The Dark Lord
by Saarkiin
Summary: The Dragonborn, High King of Skyrim and Dark Lord of Tamriel, is transported to a new world. A vulnerable world, rife with turmoil and ripe for the taking. The Dark Lord needs only to reach out and take it. (Evil MC. Feel free to leave a review and let me know what you think)
1. The Undead King

_**The Dark Lord: The Undead King**_

The great central hall of Castle Volkihar was silent as an expansive court filled with vampire lords, alpha werewolves, draugr deathlords, Listeners, dremora lords, and other vile creatures of the darkness that knelt before their dark lord and master. The **__**Laat Dovhakiin**__**, the last Dragonborn, rested upon his high throne that had been the seat of a vast and magnanimous empire. Blue, magical flames flickered and crackled in four great braziers that sat in sets of two on each side behind a stone throne.

The pale, blue lights revealed the imposing and dreadful form of the dark master of Castle Volkihar. It was a two meters tall figure whose face was shrouded in a black hood and its body was adorned with the legendary black armor known as the Ebony Mail. Beneath the shroud of its hood rested a horrible face; a fleshless skull with two pale points of light glaring from the empty darkness of the sockets. Set inside the creature's grim grin were sharp, dagger-like canines signifying that this skull had once belonged to a vampire long ago.

This skeleton was known and worshiped all across Tamriel as Sahrotalok-Dilon, a name which meant Mighty-Arisen-Undead in the draconic language. This title, bestowed upon him by the dragons who revered him as a god of death, solidified the Dovah's unyielding loyalty towards the undead king. The Nords of Skyrim knew him through the bastardized name Saarkiin, derived from the combination of Sahrotalok and Dovahkiin.

The people of Skyrim revered him as the Dread Lord feared by Daedra and Divines alike, the retribution of Talos, and the ruler of the underworld where the cursed dead unfit for Sovngarde were taken. "Saarkiin" was a label that amused the dark lord greatly. Therefore he often went by the name bestowed by his brothers and sisters from a life lived long ago.

...

* * *

Long ago in a distant land that touched the sky, a mortal child of dragons had been born. His story was one that had been recalled and recollected time and time again. From Miraak to Talos, the legend of the Dragonborn was a tale known by the children of men and elves all across Tamriel. The legend always surrounded the exploits of a fearsome hero that triumphed over dragons and daedra. They would lead humanity into the light and to the top of the world.

Yet nothing is ever as it seems. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Miraak had succumbed to the temptations of the Daedric Prince, Hermaes Mora. Talos, the Hero-God of Mankind, had in life indulged in the vices of imperialism and had formally been the great emperor, Tiber Septum. Cut from the same cloth, the destiny of this newborn child would be no different from the rest. Thus is the terrible fate of all humans, for all of mankind are born of the dark.

The newborn babe that awaited his great destiny called the misty, mountainous lands of Skyrim his home. However he would not know of his ancient homeland for many years to come. Before the Thalmor of the Altmeri Dominion had come to Skyrim, this child oft traveled alongside his Nordic parents. They lived their poor and humble lives as simple merchants, traveling the Holds while trading with the Khajit caravans to make their living. Once the Nord babe had survived his first winter he was given the name Okeer.

Okeer had little memories of his family from the time before. Only blurry visions of the past and his own name remained. When the child had lived past his fourth winter his life had become uprooted and planted into the soil of nightmares. The Thalmor, high elf-zealots of the Altmeri Dominion and the Summerset Isle, hunted across the land for those they saw as heretics against the Eight Divines. Unfortunately, and somewhat ironically, Okeer's parents worshiped the "Ninth Divine", Talos.

They came in the night and found his mother and father anointing their son upon the alter dedicated to the Hero-God of mankind. Okeer never knew if they had tried his parents for heresy or if they had put them to the sword then and there. It mattered little, for they had died long ago and it no longer held any bearing in his life moving forward.

The Thalmor saw the child as innocent of the parent's sin and had taken him alive. They had intended for him to be blessed by the Temple in the Imperial City of Cyrodiil to remove the taint of Talos-worship from his immortal soul and return him to his homeland proper. However his fate had been slated for the malachite mines of the Summerset Isle. There he had been a variable slave as he toiled away in flickering darkness for the Dominion. Nevertheless he did not resent the high elves. His half-life in the mines was all that he had ever known.

Day in and day out he worked the mines. At night he worshiped the Eight, found community with the other repenting heretics from Highrock, Skyrim, and Hammerfell and slept soundly on the thatch roof of the workers shack and under the summer stars of Aetherius. For fifteen years this had been his whole life.

At nineteen years of age Okeer had grown into a mountain of a man. His Nordic heritage had blessed him with phenomenal strength, a barrel chest, and a mane of dark hair. Often times he would find himself fighting and wrestling with the other incarcerated warriors from Hammerfell or Skyrim for the fun of it. Eventually he had caught the eye of several high elf nobility who had a taste for gambling and bloodsport.

One day a high elf aristocrat had purchased his life from the Dominion and taken him to the Imperial City to fight in the Arena. Okeer, excited to see the world outside the tunneling mines of malachite, gladly fought in the name of the Dominion at the Arena. There he had steamrolled many opponents with his great ax and quickly became a crowd favorite. The people of the capital came to call him "Okeer of the North" which sparked his desire to seek out his homeland.

Eventually, Okeer had been able to purchase his own life with the earnings he received through his countless victories within the Arena. This did not please the Altmeri noble, but the law was clear within Cyrodiil and Okeer had found himself free for the first time in his life. While traveling Cyrodiil he had met several other Nords and felt a longing to see his homeland of Skyrim for the first time in his adult life.

He traveled to Bruma and found a long lost kinship with the Nords he met there. The more he learned of his homeland and his lost heritage the more he desired to see it for himself. So he finally worked up the courage to set out for the border between Cyrodiil and Skyrim despite warnings of civil unrest to the north.

On the long, winding roads between Skyrim and Bruma agents of the Thalmor had emerged from the darkness of nighttime. They meant to recapture Okeer and return him to his so-called rightful master in the Summerset Isles. They surrounded his lonely camp, and so he had no choice but to fight. Suffering through the pain of spells and blades he swung his two-handed ax like a madman. By sunrise he stood bloodied and beaten over the ruined remains of the Thalmor assailants.

Okeer leaped onto the back of his horse and frantically made for the border of Skyrim, crossing it in a mad dash for safety. This had sparked the ire of the Imperial guards protecting the border. In fear that they may be in lead with the Thalmor, Okeer refused to end the pursuit and continued his flight northward. In his frantic escape he dove into the thick foliage of Skyrim's forest. However he was unfamiliar with the local topography and cracked his skull on a low lying branch and knocked himself unconscious.

The next thing Okeer became aware of was the fact that he was sitting in a wagon with thieves and rebels on his way towards the chopping block. This is where the story begins for all who chronicled the rise of the Dark Lord into power. Here in this city was where Alduin the Destroyer would return, where the Dragonborn would begin his journey to learn the true destiny that awaited him, and the power that would bring the world to its knees.

After escaping Helgen with his neck intact he joined the Blades in their battle against the dragons and the World Eater, Alduin. After defeating the Black Dragon of Destruction he made a home living alongside the first friends he had made in Skyrim, the Companions. Afterward he traveled to the far north and joined the College of Winterhold and learn the true power that lay within his dragon's soul, becoming more powerful than anyone could possibly imagine. His dragon's soul had allowed him to delve into secrets of magic and Oblivion that none had been able to do before. For the first time Okeer tasted true power, and he wanted __more.__

One day, while searching the depths of a ruin for more secrets of magic and mysticism Okeer stumbled across a sacred tomb. Inside he found a magic seal encapsulating a cold woman who's beauty was truly otherworldly to him. In her arms she cradled a divine Elder Scroll, but despite himself and his desire for it's power he only had eyes for the scroll's bearer. Infatuated, he made it his duty to escort her, the vampire princess named Serana, back to her ancestral home of Castle Volkihar.

There at the dilapidated and ruined castle he met her father, a dark despot on a deranged mission to blot out the Sun. However Lord Harkon had offered Okeer the chance to stand by him in the night, and he took the opportunity so that he may stand by Serana instead.

Together he and Serana had overturned Harkon's insane and asinine machinations and in the end he found himself the King of the Night and a Lord of Darkness. He had become powerful beyond measure and his sphere of influence only continued to grow. Soon he found both the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood in his deep pockets and at his beck and call. All the creatures of the night had come to know Okeer as their dark king and Serana their queen.

Eventually the Companions, ostracized for their neutrality in the waging war for Skyrim, found themselves cast out of Whiterun and betrayed to the werewolf hunters known as the Silver Hand. Okeer took it upon himself to unite vampire and werewolf under his banner and personally destroyed organizations such as the Dawnguard and the Silver Hand who prosecuted his underlings.

With his ever expanding army the time to take control of Skyrim eventually arrived. The Civil War for the future of Skyrim began to escalate out of control. Okeer entered the Civil War under the false guise of supporting Ulfric Stormcloak and his band of rebels. He propped him up like a puppet and spearheaded the rebellion from the shadows, facilitating their war effort with his black magic and dark legions.

After many months of battles and fighting the war came to a head at the city of Solitude. Once the Stormcloaks had taken the city and broken the Imperial Legion the war had finally ended. Ulfric celebrated his victory within the city, but the end was nigh for him as well. Okeer's own undead legions flooded the city in the cover of darkness, slaughtering any and every combative man or woman within the walls. That night Solitude became as silent as its name sake. The next day the Dragonborn emerged from his lofty castle and established himself as High King of Skyrim. With Elisf the Fair hostage within the Blue Palace none of the remaining Jarls could resist. Thus the foundations of Okeer's, or Saarkiin's empire took root...

Later in life Okeer had encountered and rescued his ancient, dragonborn brother out of time. With the aid of Serana and the Nords of Solstheim he pulled his brother from beyond time, Miraak, from the clutches of the vile Daedric Prince, Hermaes Mora. The two dragonborn brothers defeated the Deadra and together they split the map of Nirn into two and shared vast empires across the entirety of the world. Okeer, who soon became known as the dreaded Dark Lord Saarkiin, had toppled the Empire of Cyrodiil with an army of undeath and proclaimed himself the Last Dragonborn Emperor of Tamriel.

Soon the Deadric Princes of Oblivion began to reproached them for their grandiose behavior within the mortal realm and sought to claim the powerful souls of Saarkiin, Serana, and Miirak for themselves. Together the dragonborn brothers and the daughter of Coldharbor declared war against the Daedric Princes of Oblivion. One by one Saarkiin and Miraak used the various Daedric artifacts and Elder Scrolls at their disposal to force the daedra out of their respective plains of Oblivion onto Nirn where they could be theoretically defeated. Through great effort, strife, and many sacrificed lives, Saarkiin, Serana, and Miirak succeeded in their campaign.

The three had conquered all the plains of Oblivion and unlimited magicka was theirs to relish and command. From each side of the planet the two brothers ruled alongside each other in relative peace and harmony for many long years. A century had passed while both empires and their subjects prospered unlike any before. Yet the Last Dragon Emperor and the Elder Dragon Emperor did not go unchallenged forever. The Aedra greatly feared the power that was wielded by the dragonborn brothers and declared all-out war, attacking Saarkiin and Miraak's home capitols in Skyrim and the ruins Morrowind without warning nor hesitation.

Saarkiin had been attacked at one of his seats in Solitude by divine armies of Golden Saints, winged soldiers capable of terrifyingly powerful holy magic. Yet the dark lord had access to all the Daedric artifacts with their fully unlocked potential, four Elder Scrolls of Blood, Dragon, Sun, and Oblivion, and an army of dragons and undead that could be summoned on a moment's notice. He had vaguely foreseen the attacks through the magic of the Dragon Elder Scroll and had prepared himself accordingly, awaiting the Aerda at Solitude. That battle had been violent and it had been harsh. Divine and Damned spells arced across Skyrim and several cities had been laid to waste. Only when Saarkiin had called upon the very essence of his ancient enemy, Alduin, did the battle finally come to an end in the dark lords favor.

However there had been no time to warn his brother, who was on the opposite side of Nirn, of the eminent attacks. Miraak had attempted to escape through an Oblivion Gate to take shelter within the safety of Castle Volkihar after his own armies of dremora, elves and dragons fell to the might of the Divines and their endless armies of Golden Saints. The Aedra pursued him into Oblivion and only his mask had arrived, found buried in the snow next to the watch tower…

…

* * *

Saarkiin now sat upon his grim throne and studied his loyal subjects who knelt before him. Serana, his empress for over a century, sat at a lower throne to his right and looked up at her lord husband with concerned, vampiric eyes. To his left sat the cold and reserved Valerica, the official Lady of Castle Volkihar and Saarkiin's mother-in-law. A vampire scout approached the central throne and laid the mask of Miraak at the foot of the steps and backed away apologetically.

"And so passes the First Dragonborn. Now I truly am the Last…" said Saarkiin in a smooth, grim, and solemn voice.

If there had been a body then Saarkiin had could have used his powers over life and death to resurrect him. The Aedra were not daft opponents, however. They would have thoroughly and utterly destroyed Miraak's physical body whether he had died on Nirn or in Oblivion. Now they would have in their possession the recently collected weapons and Elder Scrolls that were in lock and keep within Miraak's temples and were assuredly preparing another attack on Saarkiin's homeland of Skyrim.

The great undead was not willing to sit idly by and watch the Aedra burn his home and slaughter his people. The Aedra would never sue for peace and they sought to destroy the world that he, Serana, and Miraak had created together. Therefore he would use the Elder Scrolls in his possession to their fullest extent.

"I will use these four scrolls to erase the seven Divines from creation…" said the grim figure. Seven because it appeared that Akatosh and Talos had not taken part in the attacks, for obvious reasons.

"Are we even sure that this plan will work against them?" asked Serana. "It's the Divines we're talking about. They'll be a lot tougher than any of the Daedra were." The lords in attendance looked up fearfully at the empress.

"I have to try, Serana. Combined, their powers are far greater than ours. I only survived our battle because they had split their forces to attack Miraak and myself simultaneously. If not for the Scroll of Dragon and my surprise trump card then the Aedra would have crushed me once and for all during our battle at Solitude. The Scrolls are now our only hope of victory."

"I think you've gone mad you old bag of bones! You could destroy the whole planet with that kind of power. I think we should face them head on. If we take each one at a time then I believe that together we can prevail." Commented Valerica, crossing her arm and staring down her undead son-in-law. "Outside of Aetherius they're vulnerable, just like the Deadra were when trapped outside of Oblivion." Various members of the gathered crowd began to murmur in support of Valeria's proposal.

"Thank you for your input, mother Valerica… I have heard all of your concerns, my dear family and followers. Yet I have consulted the Scrolls time and time again. It is too late and this is out only course of action. We do not have the time nor the manpower to muster another counteroffensive. The Aedra have prepared themselves for another onslaught and will bring down an almighty spell of smiting upon Nirn that will wipe out all lands that have been touched by my influence. This world is to be destroyed either way. That is why I have gathered all those dear to me and that have supported me throughout the ages.

My family, my companions, and my servants. You have gathered in this great hall today because I will activate these Elder Scrolls and cast a powerful spell of my own design. We may not be able to save this world, yet we will survive it or take the Aedra into ultimate destruction with us…" Said Saarkiin.

And with that the hall erupted into cheers. There was nearly three-hundred "people" in this castle. They, and the rest of the world, all counted on him. Saarkiin rose from his throne and raised his arms high into the air. In the space in front of him the Elder Scrolls appeared. They floated in midair and with a wave of his right arm each scroll opened. From each page of each scroll Saarkiin recited the passages that had appeared to him.

Several decades ago Saarkiin had discovered a spell from the Scroll of Oblivion to turn oneself into a Skeleton Lord, the most powerful rank of undead, and double their magicka. Through the Illusion and Alteration schools of magic, however, Saarkiin could always go back to his human form to look, feel, and appear as he did in life before vampirism and undeath.

As an undead of such a high level he could also read the scrolls freely and without penalty. Over the years of studying Saarkiin had learned many of the secrets of Aetherius, Mundus, Nirn, Oblivion, and the source of magicka from the confines of the Elder Scrolls. With each reading of the scrolls he found that they often revealed different prophecies and properties pertaining to the subject of the scroll and the desire of the reader.

The Last Dragonborn finished the recitation and the floating scrolls emitted a wondrous white light before exploding into ethereal flames. In a second they were completely turned into ash and the world around the castle shook. The magic fires that illuminated the castle died out and the great hall was dark. Saarkiin, Valerica, Serana, and most of the rest of the castle denizens could see well enough in the dark so the lights were a mere formality. The shaking ceased and all was silent once more.

**_**Part II**_**

Saarkiin was not sure if he had been victorious. He knew that he was still "alive". All of his subjects, his castle, and everything in and around it were still intact. However it was evident that the dark lord did not have a single clue as to where he was at. Well, of course he knew that he was still safe inside his castle. But __where__ was the castle?

Castle Volkihar was formerly located on a small island off the northwestern coast of Skyrim. Now it was located deep in an unknown forest surrounded on all sides by thick, ancient coniferous trees.

Day and night the vampires, werewolves, and undead in service to the dragonborn scouted the nearby area for landmarks, cities, or danger. Soon the vampire nightstalker, Fura, and the alpha werewolf, Aela, returned to deliver their report.

It would seem that Castle Volkihar had been displaced onto an island much larger than the previous one that it was carved into. Yet the integrity of the underground portions of the castle remained perfectly intact.

Several years after he had moved into the castle, Serana and her mother had laid out the groundwork for improving and updating the ancient stronghold. Several wings, armories, hundreds of rooms, this throne room, an excavated tomb, the courtyard, and the entirety of the old castle was either added to or improved upon.

Here in this castle Saarkiin had stored every Daedric artifact along with various other Aedric, Dwarven, or Aethereal artifacts. The armories were outfitted with a surplus amount of powerful enchanted weapons, items, and scrolls for use in defending the castle. The catacombs and tombs below were filled with hundreds of draugr, skeletons, and dragon bones that rested in wait for the dragonborn to adorn his Aethereal Crown and raise them from the dead to service his armies.

One of the first issues Saarkiin and Serana had noticed was the inability for them to open an Oblivion Gate. Almost all contact with the plains Oblivion was lost. The only contact with the plains was the portal to the Soul Cairn in Valeria's workshop.

Through his past studies of the Elder Scrolls Saarkiin had learned that all magicka did not flow from Aethereas or the planet. It instead came from Oblivion. Soon he realized that when anyone here in the castle casted a spell, their magicka did not regenerate unless they drank a mana potion.

Saarkiin did not have proof but in his ethereal gut he felt that he must be in another world. Another plain entirely. Later that evening his fears were confirmed when more scouts returned with their reports.

A large village with a castle of its own lay in the far side of the island. His nightstalkers and nightingales had infiltrated the town and collected various pieces of information and items such as a map of the new world.

The map was unrecognizable to say the least. Between Saarkiin and Miraak's empires the whole of Nirn was known to him. This map was of the unfamiliar island and an unfamiliar continent that was off towards the northwestern coast.

Saarkiin retired to his room that he shared with Serana. The two sat by the fireplace and studied the map in detail. The writing and language was familiar to the language used by the old Cyrodillic Empire.

"The island Castle Volkihar is on now is called Bear Island?" asked Serana.

"Indeed. And this continent here is called Westros. Yes…" said Saarkiin, lost in the map. It was divided up into so many houses and so many factions. Seven Kingdoms each divided between multiple lordships, not unlike the Holds of Skyrim. According to his scouts the natives of Bear Island were something akin to a Nord and the ruling family are the Mormonts. Their sigil on the map was a thematically appropriate green bear.

"I wonder if we'll see any werebears here."

"Indeed…"

Serana looked to her husband who still lingered in the map. Saarkiin was not only lost in just the map but in his own thoughts as well. He had lost an entire hemisphere of a planet that he ruled over. He had made sacrifices and paid the ultimate price several times in order to save that world on multiple occasions.

Now that world was gone. He had once reveled in unlimited magicka and now all magicka was finite. Even the bountiful stock of magic potions and ingredients were limited.

Saarkiin did have in his armories, the Black Star, and thousands of filled grand and black soul gems. He speculated that soul gems could be used to restore magicka in a similar fashion to potions. The dark lord made a mental note to study that further. So as long as he could access the Soul Cairn he had access to his magicka.

"Has Valeria studied the portal yet?" Saarkiin asked Serana.

"Yes she has. For some reason the Soul Cairin is still available to us despite not being able to contact any of the other plains of Oblivion. All of the collected souls remain within, including the Reaper, the Ideal Masters and Durnehviir."

"Splendid. We have an ample supply of souls and soul gems available to us for now. But we will have needs to replenish it regularly with whatever we can find in this new world. Many humans are clearly present if this map is to be believed. Good…"

"So what issues are we faced with aside from our supply of magicka?"

"The vampires need thralls to survive. The werewolves need to transform and hunt regularly in order to maintain their immortality. The Daedric Artifacts are still active and several of the more fickle ones demand regular sacrifices lest they become agitated. The dremora butlers, maids, and guardsman tend to get violent when cooped up for too long. With the limit use of magic I doubt the human mages that live among us will last very long."

"I see…" replied Serana, contemplating. Saarkiin examined her features in the light of the fire as he had done hundreds of times before. She was just as beautiful as the day he found her in that weird stone box almost a hundred years ago.

"Even my Thu'um is weaker. I can already feel it in my throat." He actually did not have a throat on his neck but the ethereal feeling remained all the same as he reached up and touched it. "What do you believe we should do, Serana?"

"Let's learn more tomorrow when more scouts return from the human settlement. I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out from there, smart guy." She teased. He was insanely intelligent due to years of studying the scrolls. But it was just a tease. Serana then when off to sleep in her coffin while she waited and Saarkiin remained by the fire. As a skeleton lord he no longer needed to rest any at all. So for the rest of the evening he returned to his throne to wait for his scouts to return.

Early that morning when the sky was still dark the nightstalkers and nightingales returned. They kneeled before their master, between them a human hostage from the settlement. Saarkiin would get the information he needed from this human, erase his memories with Alteration and Illusion magic, and sneak him back into the town before the sun rose.

He was a beast of a man. Black hair and thick beard with a thick, brown leather jerkin around his broad chest and back. The jerkin held the bear sigil from the map. He was enthralled and therefor in a dazed state. Saarkiin waved his right hand and said:

"You may look upon me, mortal." The man looked up from his stupor and l came face to face with the specter of death. Saarkiin's pale lights peered from underneath the hood and pierced the man's soul.

"State your name!" ordered the nightstalker that had rose to stand behind the man.

"I-I'm Jorah. S-Ser Jorah of house Mormont. Son of Beor. I-I'm a knight…"

"Fear not, mortal. You are under influence, but you have not sinned against me, so you are safe here. I need only ask a few questions and then this will all be just a distant nightmare. _**_**[Calm]"**_**_ said Saarkiin as he cast a spell upon Ser Jorah. The knight slowly rose from his knees and looked around rapidly like a cornered animal before resting his gaze at the horror before him.

"W-what is it you want to k-know?" stuttered the terrified knight.

"Who is the lord of this land?"

"I-I don't…"

"I implore you to tell me…" replied Saarkiin as the pale lights became more intense.

"The lord of the northern lands is Eddard Stark of Winterfell. The king of the Seven Kingdoms is Robert Baratheon." Relayed the fearful knight, quickly stammering out the answer.

"One king and Seven Kingdoms? Interesting. Please my dear knight, continue…" And so the bear knight, in fear for his own life in the light of the specter before his eyes, told in truth as much as he knew about life in the Seven Kingdoms.

Hours pass and the somewhat more relaxed knight began to grow weary. The time had come to release the bear back to the wild. He wiped the man's memory temporarily and returned him to a state of enthrallment. He ordered the nightingales to return the man, but before they departed he issued another order. This time he addressed Jorah:

"One more thing, good knight. If you should see any members of your society that are perishable and wouldn't be missed I would reward you handsomely if you brought them to this location. Remember that this is all our secret. Even to you, thrall." The nightingale grabbed the dazed man by his arm and lead him away.

Saarkiin look across the throne room to see that Serana had been there most of the time. She approached the throne and the two conversed over the information that had just been obtained. The knight had known a great many things about his home country. They had learned of the local political system of wardens, lords, nobles, and royalty. All familiar concepts. They learned that magic was extremely limited in scope across the land and many more things.

Selecting Ser Jorah for abduction had been the right choice. He made a mental note to praise the nightstalkers and nightingales for their exceptional work. After the brief discussion Serana and Saarkiin became silent for a moment and stared at each other. Then Serana said:

"Well, did you figure out what you wanted to do?"

"Of course. We're going to do the same thing we always do. There is a throne out there in this new world of ours… I want it."

"That's my man."

**_**Part III**_**

"You want another throne, eh?" Serana said to herself as she walked down the long corridors of Castle Volkihar, her favorite death hound by her side. She was thinking long and hard about the many events that had transpired in the past few months. It had all been terrible and such, but Serana was centuries old and had dealt with far worse. She was far older than even her own husband. Honestly when she had first met her husband, the man named Okeer, she had thought of him as a child. It warmed her cold, dead heart thinking about how far that man had come and where they had been centuries ago.

It was daytime once again and Saarkiin would be busy making his preparations for the days that lay ahead. He had talked to her about building a ship and exploring the region around the island. Saarkiin had always been a curious one, delving into each dungeon and ruin he came across, and dragging Serana into the fray with him.

Serana decided that she would leave him to his devices and take care of some administrative paperwork for the castle that had piled up in her room prior to recent events. __I guess I don't have any excuses to put work off now.__

As she sat down at the desk in her personal room she couldn't help but reminisce about the past once more. In the years she spent with the man that would become her future husband she had been amazed that in such a short period of time he had surpassed her and her father, the Vampire Lord Harkon, in power. It terrified her at first because she truly feared that he would go insane with his prowess just as her father had before him. Yet Okeer had maintained his composure through each and every event of their lives together.

Then everything changed when the Daedric Prince, Molag Bal, had came and kidnapped Serana. Okeer had made the ultimate sacrifice for her to gain the phenomenal power necessary to stand against a Daedric Prince. He had become the Skeleton Lord Saarkiin, the entity that all of Tamriel came to know and fear as a god of death. He was no longer the man she had fallen in love with, but she could never repay the debt she owed him for doing what he had to do to save her from that dreadful deadra. In time, she learned to love the new version of her husband all the same as before.

As Serana was compiling several papers together she felt a familiar presence in the doorway. She turned to see her mother, the Lady Valerica.

"Finally doing something productive, I see." Said the older vampire as she strode across the room and took a seat at a table near Serana's desk. Serana ignored her mother's comment and said:

"Can I help you with something, mother?"

"Where is your husband? Is he busy?" she asked.

"He said he would be in the Soul Cairn doing test for the time being."

"Good. I need to ask you about something important about what happened at Solitude."

"Why?" asked Serana, puzzled.

"Whatever he did before returning to Castle Volkihar after fending of the Aedra nearly threw the Soul Cairin out of balance. What did he do?"

"What he had to do, mother. He always does what he has to do…" said Serana, annoyed.

"The Ritual of the Ideal Masters…" she growled. "I knew it. That mad skeleton…"

"Don't talk about him like that! I already told you he _had_ to do it." Snapped Serana. It was true that the last thing that ever needed to happen was for anyone to preform that ritual. But it had to be done. It didn't matter now anyways, but Valerica was always looking for reasons to be suspicious of Saarkiin, for every time she looked at him Serana knew that she saw her own late husband.

The Ritual of the Ideal Masters had been put into place as a countermeasure against the future threat of any Aedra or Daedra. When Saarkiin, in life as Okeer the Dragonborn, defeated his nemesis Alduin he was not able to devour his soul as he did with other dragons. In that century after the Daedric Wars had ended Saarkiin had searched high and low until he finally found it adrift in Sovngarde. The Eternal Soul of the World Eater.

It took a great deal of effort, but Saarkiin and Serana had been able to drag the soul of Alduin to the Soul Cairn. Together with the Ideal Masters, the Reaper, and Durnehviir they sealed away Alduin into the core of the Soul Cairn. Then a ritual was constructed to allow Saarkiin to unleash the World Eater as the ultimate conjuration spell should the time come to use it. The only problem is it cost the soul of every living thing in and around the city of Solitude…

"I'm sure everything is fine, mother. You can stop worrying about the past. We have a bit of a predicament here in the present."

"Alduin's soul was never returned to the Soul Cairn. Do you understand the implications of that, Serana?" said Valerica in a low tone.

"Mother I'm sure he was lost with Nirn and the Aedra. I wouldn't worry about it. Now let's discuss more pressing matters…"

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_feel free to leave a review if you'd like. But if you wish to leave a nasty remark then please reconsider and move on with your life.

Also, I am not hiding nor am I ashamed of the fact that this story was inspired by Kugane Muryama's Overlord. However Okeer/Saarkiin is his own character who has existed in my mind since 2011/2012. He's no more of a caricature of Ainz Ooal Gown than Ainz is of Leoric the Skeleton King, Skeletor, ect.

Bone Daddies are cool.


	2. The Drowning Isles

**_**The Drowning Isles**_**

The storms had come early that morning and assaulted the withering walls of the Iron Islands. Now that the clouds began to pass away overhead a thick fog rolled in with the tides. It covered the Iron Islands in a cold blanket, perfect to cover a tiny girls escape from the castle on the cliff known as Pyke.

Her father, who once lived there as the king of salt and iron, seemed to not care about the wanderings of his remaining offspring in these gray days. In the recent years her father had been defeated and dethroned and all of her brothers had gone away.

The girl had been too young to remember at the time, but she heard the stories of those who whispered when her father wasn't near. Her father, Balon Greyjoy, had been driven into a deep state of severe depression and rarely left his room or even rose from his stone chair.

With very few people left to look after the child, Yara Greyjoy wandered around the Iron Islands unimpeded and unattended. No one bothered to venture out after the evening fogs had rolled in. When she was outside Yara loved to go to the oceans threshold and watch the ships come in with the tides. Very few ships ever sailed into their harbors these days, with many of the men lying about the ports drinking their sorrows away while paying Yara no mind as she wandered by.

Tonight Yara found herself close to a beach where the priest of the Drowned God preformed ceremonies to bless the sailors and revers with the salt waters or to drown the heretics. There were several ornamental driftwood pieces used in the ceremonies scattered across the beach, but there were no other people to be seen. Yare began to gather the driftwood pieces to play with them.

An hour or two had passed and the fogs had moved on to give way to a clear night sky. The moon rose overhead and illuminated the dark waters of the vast ocean. Then something rippling across the dark, reflective waters caught Yara's eye. She looked up quickly hoping that she would see one of the whales that she always heard the drunken sailors on the docks fantasize about. She saw a huge creature breaching the surface of the water, but it did not have the usual grey or blue colors the sailors described.

It was green and black, and it continued to rise slowly from the seawater. Yara could tell that the thing could not be a whale of any kind. It moved towards the edge of the water and stood up on two legs while gazing at the child. The creature glistened in the moonlight and the girl was able to finally discern its features.

It stood taller than a house and was vaguely humanoid in shape. It had a gigantic, hideous face like that of an angler fish with a massive jaw lined with jagged teeth. It was covered in spiny fins and its huge body dripped with a kind of black oil that looked like squirming, black worms.

Yara wanted to scream, but the young girl knew that she had gone too far from the castle and the docks. She knew that no one could hear her this far out. The creature twisted its fish like head in a seemingly unnatural way and looked straight at Yara. Her tiny heart was pounding in her small chest as the horrible creature began its approach. She wanted to run so badly, but her wide eyes were fixated on the thing before her.

The creature knelt down before the girl and she could feel the cold, slimy breath from its jagged jaws. However it remained perfectly still. It stared intently at the girl with its fisheye lenses. She reached out timidly and touched the dark eye lens, rubbing her little fingers on its smooth, pearl-like surface. The monster of the deep let out a low growl and its head rose back into the sky. It turned around and lumbered back into the ocean, and the fogs returned.

**_**Part II**_**

In the waning months that passed since Saarkiin and his dark court's arrival in the new world several steps had been taken to prepare for the journey forth into the unknown. In secrecy trees had been cut down and fashioned into lumber. Under the cover of each night a passible galleon was constructed and christened __The Dreamweaver__. It had been based on the personal flagship in Saarkiin's former imperial navy, now lost to only Akatosh knew where.

The galleon was outfitted with several scorpions for self-defense, a heavy ram for any expected offense, and thick sails for expedient sailing. However only a death willing fool would accost a ship whose precious cargo was the Dark Lord himself. Lord Saarkiin could conjure storms and smash ships upon the waves as he had done to the fleets of the Altmeri Dominion so long ago.

As of now lurkers, the gigantic fish-men daedra, summoned from the black books of Hermaes Mora swam beneath the tides as guardians of the looming vessel while mages and archers patrolled the deck with fire enchanted arrows and fireball spells at the ready. Saarkiin sat inside his captain's cabin and sat the black book down on the desk before him. Several weeks earlier he had discovered that he could still view the libraries of Apocrypha. Through the black books he could now conjure lurkers, seekers, and other eldritch beast to this new world. Yet Hermeas Mora never appeared or answered to his calls.

The old skeleton laid back into his chair and felt the waves rocking the ship back and forth. He had left his legendary Ebony Mail secured within the armory and was wearing fine, black hooded robes instead. They were enchanted to provide maximum magicka regeneration but the enchantment was near useless in this new world. Here the flow of magicka from the world to the user was severely limited, though not nonexistent. Over extended periods of time magicka would regenerate on its own without the facilitation of potions or soul gems but the rate was excruciatingly slow.

Saarkiin rose and strode to a window at port to gaze upon the nightly ocean. With a crew of mostly vampires on board sailing at nighttime and without lanterns was as simple as sailing in the daylight. The other islands were nearby and nearly in sight. According to the map of the new world these islands were known as the Iron Islands. The knight from before had expressed that this was a hotspot for shipyards and sailing commodities. Saarkiin's nightingale, servants of the Daedric Prince Nocturnal who were highly specialized in stealth, had taken longboats and accumulated information on these islands.

The "Ironborn" that lived on these islands were apparently passionate about sailing around the known world and attributed their success to a deity that they revered as the Drowned God. This otherworldly patron of the deep was described as god of madness and eldritch knowledge that lived at the bottom of the ocean. To Saarkiin it sounded a lot like Hermeas Mora himself may have visited this world at some point in its history. Perhaps he could corner that slippery devil soon and pry the information about this world that he needed from his gibbous claws.

Saarkiin returned to his desk and referred to the notes that lay on top. They were notes of recent events that had occurred in the world. Specifically a rebellion that the denizens of these islands had participated in. They had rebelled against the central crown of this nation and had subsequently been crushed and reprimanded for their arrogance. The wounds of loss would still be as fresh as the wounds of the flesh while their morale would be abysmal. Saarkiin reached into his desk and pulled out a golden object.

"Perhaps the ironborn could use a courtesy visit from their god…" said Saarkiin, stroking skeletal fingers across the Mask of Miraak. He then turned the mask on himself and placed it over his face. He then traded his robes for a replica set of Miraak's robes to complete the outfit. Ready for departure that dark lord made his way toward the deck and addressed his crew. They would take a longboat to shore and he would be accompanied by several crew members dressed as Miraak cultist.

They departed promptly and made landfall within the hour. After securing the longboat on the shore the weird entourage boldly made their way towards the precarious castle that rested on a cliff side in the distance. While many of the isle's inhabitants witnessed the imposing figures in horror or confusion, the group continued onward unmolested. Many people ran off to hide while others just stared in despair at the odd troop and their king in yellow.

They arrived at the gateway that led to the main keep of a castle that Saarkiin's notes had referred to as Pyke. The guards there instinctively held their own pikes out against the approaching enemy, but Saarkiin's imposing will dominated their minds.

_**_**"[Paralysis]"**_**_ casted Saarkiin as the two guards fell to the ground. The troop pressed onward into the castle. They made their way deeper into the ancient lime-scaled castle while the various members of the castle fled at the sight of the dark lord and the cultist.

Before too long they stood at the doorway to the room in which the lord of the castle lay. An older, balding man in pale gray fur cloak sat on a stone chair and stared intently into a large fireplace with kraken decals. One of the cultist cleared their throat to get the attention of the old lord. The man grumbled audibly and said:

"What else does Robert's dogs want me for? You've already taken everything. I've nothing left to give, unless you want rust and salt." He never looked away from the fireplace.

"Vingalmo you may do the honors…" said Saarkiin to the closest vampire in cultist garb.

"Certainly, master." Replied the loyal vampire as he cast _**_**[Vampiric **_**__**_**Seduction]**_**_ on the unsuspecting man and demanded: "On your feet and bow before the supreme one, peasant!"

The man quickly jumped up from his stone chair and finally looked upon the men that had entered his room. Those masks of tendril motifs, the dominating aura, and the imposing presence were undeniable. This man truly believed that his god had come to him in his hour of need. Saarkiin knew that magic was no longer necessary and ordered Vingalmo to release the man. Within moments of being released the man dropped to his knees and prostrated himself before Saarkiin.

"O Drowned One I have failed you!" cried the man in muffled tones. This had been easier than he had originally planned.

"Are you Balon Greyjoy, lord of Castle Pyke?" asked Saarkiin in his smooth, grim voice. The man shook his head in positive indication and Saarkiin indicated that he should rise to his feet. Upright once again the old lord began to sway as the ocean so Saarkiin allowed him to return to his stone chair. Grateful the man sat back down and continued to implore forgiveness for being utterly crushed by this 'King Robert' during the recent rebellion.

Over the next several hours Saarkiin interrogated the old lord for information that the Mormonts may not have possessed themselves. As a lord of one of this nations great houses Balon was able to provide a plethora of new information on the inner workings of Westrosi social structure. He learned that Balon's rebellion hadn't been the only one in recent memory. This King Robert character had participated and succeeded in his own rebellion against the central throne. Saarkiin was fondly reminded of that fool Ulfric Stormcloak from long ago as Balon describe Robert.

Once the conversations were complete Balon began to beg once again for forgiveness for his defeat. Saarkiin saw an opportunity and took it.

"Balon Greyjoy, you and the rest of the ironborn will be forgiven of your sinful defeat if you build new ships and sail to the area known as Slaver's Bay", Saarkiin pointed to the far side of a large world map that had been produced by Balon himself. "Collect slaves to be offered as live sacrifices to the servants of the Drowned God."

Balon had made it clear that slavery was banned in the Seven Kingdoms, however he was willing to do anything to spur "that bastard-king". Surely courage came quickly when conversing with one's own religious icon. Saarkiin made a mental note to keep up with the thematic roleplaying and have lurkers and seekers accompany the servants that received the offerings. It would add to the ironborn's conviction that he was indeed the Drowned God. Saarkiin felt that he had not been entirely misleading the ironborn either. If it turned out that this Drowned God was in fact Hermeas Mora then that would make Saarkiin the Drowned God's master.

And with that the matter of subjugating the Iron Islands was accomplished within a day and without conflict. Soon the ironborn will rebuild their ships and a steady supply of human slaves will be delivered in secrecy to the servants of Castle Volkihar. Thralls for the vampires, prey for the werewolves, sacrifices for the Daedric Artifacts, souls for the Soul Cairn, and corpses for the dark armies. Saarkiin congratulated himself on a job well done today and was eager to return to Serana with the good news. If he hadn't been undead, he would've been all smiles.

**_**Part III**_**

Saarkiin sat down at his desk in what was formally his father-in-law's room many years ago. He laid down a thick leather-bound tome on the desk and opened it. Serana had done Saarkiin the kindness of compiling his ever growing notes on Westeros into one coherent manuscript for ease of study. From the keep of Balon Greyjoy he had also collected a far more detailed world map and, according to the old lord, the most detailed in the known world.

It was a large map that revealed Westeros in its entirety as well as a whole another continent referred to on the map as Essos. To the south was the northern most portion of a mostly unexplored continent known as Sothoryos. Each landmass was far different from what Saarkiin had been familiar with. Therefore he decided to name this world since no map had yet named it: Thoryos.

Saarkiin studied the book and formed his next plan of action. The most nearby and spacious nation on the map was simply referred to as the North. He remembered both the knight and the lord speak of the North's lord in two very distinct manners. The young Jorah seemed to look up to the lord he knew as Eddard Stark. Old Balon had referred to "that brown-nosed Warden of the North, Ned Stark". According to the information gathered from the old ironborn, Saarkiin considered the military strength of the North.

Magic in this world seemed to be a non-issue and is considered by most of the native inhabitants to be a mere fairy tale. That would indeed be an interesting situation, Saarkiin mused. His magicka was limited but his pool was still vast beyond belief. Aside from the ever fleeting power of his Thu'um, Saarkiin possessed a wide range of spells, items, and scrolls at his disposal. Perhaps he would make a spectacle of a battle with the natives to the north and declare his dominion in earnest.

Saarkiin pushed that thought to the side as the adventurer within himself began to rise to the surface. He wanted to explore this new land and see what wonders it held. He wanted to search for lost treasure and rare items and get lost in a mysterious world with Serana at his side once again. So for now Saarkiin buried his murderous intent and spared the north a vicious onslaught. Besides, Serana would say that he's acting like her father again if he got too hasty with the wanton death and destruction.

Therefor Saarkiin decided that he, Serana, and a variable legion of vampire nightstalkers, nightingales, werewolves, assassins, and various other servants would head an expedition deep into the northern territories and meet with the Lord of Winterfell personally. He would leave Valerica to oversee the continued interactions with the ironborn. Saarkiin left his room and made his way towards his personal armory.

There he stared into a nearby mirror and pulled out a black soul gem. The dark lord concentrated on his face and body until the Illusion and Alteration spells took effect. Within moments he returned to a visage of his younger self, the man that had been known in the empire of Cyrodiil and providence of Skyrim as Okeer. In this form he had pale skin and long, dark hair with a short beard. His eyes were pale blue and the area around the lids and eyebrows were shrouded in dark war-paint.

Saarkiin returned to Serana and helped her prepare for the journey. She was more than happy to see her husband's old face once again.

"I was starting to feel like I would never see you again. It gets boring sleeping next to a dusty old skeleton all the time."

"I don't sleep..."

"Oh yeah…" Admittedly, Saarkiin did prefer to remain in his Skeleton Lord form as much as possible. Getting his point across to the mortals was so much easier when the subjects of your attention were too frightened to even move. However he also had to admit that he may have neglected his wife for a few decades prior to their transition to this world. Granted they both had far more responsibilities then. Saarkiin apologized to Serana and promised to make it up to her on this expedition that he had planned. Then he went to assemble the rest of his entourage.

**_**Part IV**_**

Two hunters moved silently through the underbrush of a great, dark forest in search of proper game. The Lord of Winterfell had permitted the residents of the North to occasionally hunt in the cold wilderness. Most northern men preferred to make their rounds and take what they could find along the safety of the Kingsroad.

However Benjen Mott of Deepwood Motte, a seaside settlement east of the northern capitol of Winterfell, sought finer quarry within the Wolfwood. He also chose to hunt away from others because he was teaching his daughter how to handle herself in the wilderness and the other men tended to frown on such behavior. Benjen didn't have any sons of his own anymore. He only thing he had left in this world after both Robert's Rebellion and the Greyjoy Rebellion was his daughter. So he had decided, after constant prodding from his willful child of fourteen, to take her out to the Wolfswood and teach her the proper ways of the hunt so that she could fend for herself one day.

They came upon a ridge within the forest and made their way down. The two hunters discovered a shallow cave on the underside of the ridge. Benjen looked around in the cave before calling his daughter over to see.

"There are no remains in this cave, Angie. No bears or wolves nearby, then. The elk should be close." He said pointing out to the empty cave. The two then moved towards a clearing past the cave. Benjen scoured the earth below and pointed out elk tracks in the moist topsoil. The tracks were fresh and fair game was near. Excited for their prospective bounty the two hunters crouched down into the underbrush once again and followed the tracks.

After several minutes of moving through the forest Benjen and Angie found the creatures they had been looking for. Several elks stood in a small clearing and surrounded a larger elk in the center who wore a mighty rack. Felling any of these beast would be more than enough for them to bring home, but if Benjen tagged that great beast in the center than he and his daughter would be the talk of the town for months to come. Angie reached over and pulled her father's furs in attempted to get his attention.

"Not now daughter. Focus on the hunt and be prepared for anything. Night comes and we must be off soon before the wolves are about."

"But father I have a bad feeling…like we're being watched."

"Maybe the wolves. Focus, child." Benjen took out his bow and strung it. He notched his arrow and prepared to lose. As the taunt string drew back towards his shoulder he could feel his daughter drawing closer. He shrugged her off and let the arrow fly. It struck home in the neck of the mighty stag and Benjen felt his heart jump with joy. He got to his feet to chase the elk. It thrashed around the clearing for a few moments before finally coming to its end. He knelt next to the still warm beast and pulled out his flaying knife. This would be the hardest part to get right so he turned to his daughter to enlighten her on the ways of skinning. That was the moment when all joy drained from his heart.

Two people were standing directly next to his daughter. One had a crude, iron pick pressed up against her neck. One was a man with a gray beard and a bald head and the other was a miserable looking crone. They were wearing tanned leather hides and various mismatched furs. Everything in their possession looked as if it had been stolen and stitched together. There was only one thing these people could be: Wildlings.

The wildlings from beyond the Wall had grown bolder as of late with most of the northern men just recently returning from the Greyjoy rebellion. These two must've snuck past the Nights Watch and had made their way all the way to the Wolfswood in the cover of the chaos.

"Please don't…" pleaded Benjen dropping his bow and knife. He didn't have to ask the wildlings what their business was. They didn't have any ranged weapons to hunt for themselves so they must have waited in the forest for a northerner to come along with everything they needed the steal. "Please, just…take the bow and the meat. We don't want any trouble. Just take it and let us go home."

"Nay. None of you southerners can know that we've been livin' in these here woods. Now me woman heres gone dry and me boy will soon be a man grown and could use a wife. So I'd think we'd be keepin' the girl, also." Replied the wildling man. In that moment Benjen felt a searing pain erupt from his back. He wanted to scream out in pain but no noise came. He lost all feeling in his legs and he dropped to the ground.

Angie screamed and cried as she watched her father perish on the cold earth. The wildling man yanked back her hair and whispered in her ear.

"We'll have fun tonight. Har!" Then he pushed her to the old woman and told the crone to tie her to a tree then come help him and the pale, scrawny boy holding a bloodied dagger gather up the elk. The crone dragged Angie towards the nearest oak tree and started tying her up with old leather strips.

As the old woman reached over to pull the strips tighter around the tree her left arm came carelessly close to Angie's mouth. Desperate, she took her only chance and bit a chunk of fat from the crone's inner arm. The old wildling woman jumped backwards, screaming, but she did not have the young girl secured yet. She jerked herself away from the ties and ran deeper into the forest with all of her might.

Night had come and the cold winds began to creep into the forest. Angie ran as fast as she could but the wildings were hot on her tail. She was one of the fastest girls in Deepwood Motte and when playing in her childhood she could outrun any boy. However the scrawny lad was terribly quick and was gaining on her. Her mind filled with the image of the pale, anguished face her father had made and that was enough to distract her from the forest path.

A root caught her foot and she went face first into the soft soil below. Angie tried to scramble to her feet but it was too late. The wildling boy was on her and he drove his knee right in between her shoulder blades. The air was knocked from the young girl's chest and she was pinned to the ground. She could no longer move away from her assailants.

The old man and the crone holding her bleeding arm arrived shortly after. The man grunted and gestured to the boy. "Take her now. Teach the cunt a lesson that she'll take to the grave."

The boy began ripping at Angie's clothing. She screamed and tried to pull herself free but to no avail. She prayed to both the old gods and the new for aid. When her screaming prayer finished, the wildlings froze. A grim, solemn voice echoed and reverberated through the nighttime air.

**_**"I see… The people of this land take joy in the wild hunt. I too enjoy the relentless pursuit of prey. As do my hounds…"**_**

From the shadows of the Wolfswood a hulking figure began to take form. Black fur, snarling white teeth, and glowing yellow eyes emerged from the darkness and revealed itself to the four people lingering in the forest. It was a massive wolf, bursting with human-like muscle but crouched on all fours.

A faceless figure in black armor stood next to the drooling, wolf-like creature. He was gently stroking the fur on the back of the beast's neck. The man and the crone immediately fled before the sight of the beast, leaving the boy behind. "Pursue them, Aela. Bring me their heads and you may keep the rest…" said the dark figure.

The great beast rose to its hind legs and let out a deep, roaring howl. It then dropped back to all fours and took off with incredible ferocity as several more shadows of similar height and build followed pursuit.

The boy still remained astride Angie, now holding a bloody iron dagger out in front of himself with both shaking hands. The hooded figure took a single step forward and in response the boy pressed his dagger against the girl's throat.

"You are weak boy…" said the figure. Pale lights shown from beneath its hood and shadows began to consume its form. Then it was gone. The wilding boy frantically looked back and forth for the figure that had just been in front of his eyes. In that moment a cold hand gripped around his throat and hoisted him up into the air. The smoky shadows cleared away to reveal the hooded figure in ebony.

Now the boy, gasping for air, could see its face. A grim, fleshless skull with dead lights for eyes that gazed upon the frightened boy. He clawed at the armored hand that held his throat, but to no use. His grip tightened and the solemn voice softly rang out once more.

"Even scraping you from my boot would be a wasted effort. However, I do have an empty black soul gem…" said the skeleton as its gauntlet began to glow and tighten its grip on the boys jaw. After a few seconds the boys head was crushed entirely. Another beast emerged from the trees behind and the skeleton threw what remained to the eager creature.

**_**Part V**_**

The two wildlings ran frantically for their meager lives. The old crone, slowly losing blood from the wound on her arm, began to fall behind. The man didn't take notice that she couldn't keep up and Aela was quickly closing the distance behind her. Though the scent of blood drove her lycan mind insane, she retained her expedient composure and pushed onward. The crone was too easy. The hulking she-wolf hurdled past the old crone and continued onward towards the man that ran ahead.

The crone began to slow and let out a sigh of relief. Then another beast lurched from the shadows behind her and tore the crone asunder. Aela paid the others no mind and closed the distance between her and the running man. Within moments he was caught by the jaws of death.

The werewolves returned shortly after their brief chase, dragging the maimed bodies of the two wild individuals. Saarkiin noted their attire and compared them to the Forsworn scourge that he had dealt with in the land of Skyrim. Similar creatures, these wildings were. He quickly returned the appropriate spells to his face as to not alarm the girl. From what was left of her clothing he could surmise that she was from the more civilized settlement that the longboats of the __Dreamweaver__ had landed just north of. That meant her liege lord would more than likely be Eddard Stark. Therefore Saarkiin did his one good deed for the day and attended to a nearby scream for help. It had been mainly Serana's idea anyway.

Saarkiin ordered his aids to claim and bag the heads of the wildlings and leave the rest for his loyal beast. Serana held sympathy for the girl and had led her far away from the horrific sight. Perhaps she herself had recalled her scaring night with the Daedric Prince, Molag Bal, and took pity on the girl. Either way the child had value because she could give testimony before the Lord in the North and give validity to Saarkiin's image as a well-meaning, foreign king here to pay a peaceful visit. With business here taken care of Saarkiin and his troop loaded up and continued their way towards Winterfell.

From atop his black warhorse named Shadowmere, Saarkiin took survey of the land outside the forest and considered this group. His entourage consisted of himself and Serana, two vampire nightstalkers, two nightingales, three werewolves, and several mages. A carriage was filled with supplies, potions, ebony armor for the werewolves to wear when they returned to human form, and anything the dark lord had deemed "necessary" for the expedition. The area outside the Wolfswood was open and unless a full army were due to descend on them then Saarkiin was confidante that they were prepared for anything.

They continued onward without delay. Serana had consoled the child and stayed with her while riding the carriage. Serana had instructed the girl not to speak of the beast when confronted by the authorities of the North. Saarkiin would've wiped her memory with magic but he wanted her recollection of the violent event to be clear and vivid.

Saarkiin wished to be in Eddard Starks' good graces in order to receive the full hospitality of the capitol city, Winterfell. If he could eventually hold the North in the palm of his hand, the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, then the five remaining kingdoms would come tumbling down without effort or excessive bloodshed. Sahrotalok-Dilon would establish his empire anew and rule once again with absolute authority. However he did not wish to rule upon an empire of corpses. That would be…boring.

Soon the high walls of Winterfell came into sight. The troop came up to the vast, iron gates that had repelled centuries of various conflicts. He could hear the confused ramblings of the guards on the ramparts as they scrambled about. After half an hour passed the gates finally swung open and a group of soldiers on horseback rode out to meet Saarkiin's troop. Two of the three werewolves, in human form and in ebony armor, stepped forward and crossed ebony two-handed axes between the horsemen and the dark lord. Saarkiin reached up and pulled back his hood and waved the companions to step aside.

"What brings strange folk such as yourself to Winterfell?" asked the head of the guard, and older man with large, white muttonchops.

"I am Sahrotalok-Dilon, a king from a very distant land on tour of the world. Many call me Saarkiin. You may refer to me as Okeer, if it pleases you. I would not expect a foreigner to refer to another foreigner as king" Said Saarkiin.

The old knight seemed wary of his explanation but the sight of the ebony-clad bodyguards and the extravagant entourage seemed to give credence to his claim. The white haired knight opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted when a young man behind the guard suddenly dismounted and called out:

"Angela!?"

"Rory!" cried out the girl that was sitting next to Serana. The girl had leaped from her seat and ran towards the young man who seemed roughly close to her own age. The two ran towards each other and embraced.

"Ah, I believe that belongs to you…" said Saarkiin, smiling at the old knight. Explanations were given about the girls rescue and nods of approval were distributed. The old knight, who Saarkiin learned was named Rodrick Cassel, led the troop into the city of Winterfell. It was a simple layout of a city with several towers rising in the distance. The architecture of the city reminded Saarkiin of Windhelm which pleased him greatly.

This world was so different yet so familiar and it relieved his long dead heart to see recognizable things. They reached the stable and left their horses and carriage behind. The ebony knights stayed behind to guard the carriage, as there were things hidden inside that were not meant for prying mortal eyes.

Saarkiin, Serana and the rest were taken to a place similar to an inn and were given rooms to rest while the knights communicated the events of the day to the man of interest, Lord Eddard Stark. No one in this group had any need for rest but they obliged the men anyways and waited. It would seem that rescuing the girl had been a bold but worthy move to make and it had broken the ice between the troop and the city guards.

Yet Saarkiin wondered if introducing himself as a foreign king had been appropriate. It did not matter, anyways. If anyone slighted Saarkiin in any serious manner than he would destroy this city, raise their dead, and conquer this country the old fashion way. He had brought along enough potions and soul gems to put on quite the show, just in case.

Time passed and Rodrick finally returned with word from his liege lord. They would be taken to the central keep where Eddard "Ned" Stark would hold audience with them. Saarkiin arrived at the tower and walked into a large keep with a long table set at the far end of the open room. There several men sat in a row and gazed upon Saarkiin's strange entourage as they entered. The man at the center of the table was undoubtedly Lord Stark. Saarkiin was once again reminded of Ulfric Stormcloak and held back a sensible chuckle.

Over the next several hours Saarkiin was bombarded with questions referring to where his alleged kingdom was and why exactly had he come to Winterfell?

"My Kingdom…is to the far west, beyond the Iron Islands and into the sea. I have left the kingdom…in good hands and I shall return when it pleases me. For now I seek shelter and hospitality until that day comes. Will I receive it here?"

"I did not know a land lay west of Westeros, yet stranger things have happened. Very well. For your honorable deed in the Wolfswood I grant you the freedom to come and go within Winterfell as you see fit. Do not cause mischief or bring harm to my people and you will be treated with respect and hospitality, King Okeer." Ned Stark had replied, handing a bowl of bread and salt to the undead king. It must've been a cultural matter so Saarkiin made it seem like he ate from the bowl. He would have to clean the inside of his armor later though. Serana and the rest ate without issue and the matter was settled.

From that point forward Saarkiin was a temporary resident of the northern capital of Winterfell. Ned Stark began to spend time with Saarkiin to show himself as a good host and because he was greatly interested in this "western kingdom" Saarkiin hailed from. Saarkiin did not feel the need to lie too much to the Northern Lord so he told Ned in detail his beautiful, but lost, home of Skyrim. Of course the most important details, such as it actually being a different world entirely and his own undead nature, were still kept to himself.

In vise versa Saarkiin learned from Ned many different things about the Seven Kingdoms. He learned about the history and lore of the land, the linage of House Stark, and Robert's Rebellion. The central royal figurehead of the Seven Kingdoms was a single king in the capital city of King's Landing. Ned's sister had been kidnapped by the prince of the previous royal family, the Targaryens, and Robert Baratheon had rebelled to reclaim her.

If that was all it took to start a massive civil war within this country then Saarkiin would have to tread more lightly in the future. That said, Saarkiin would have to look into the matter of these people who claimed themselves to be "blood of the dragon." In his world he had been the last blood of the dragon, and his blood had dried up ages ago.

Saarkiin noted Ned's personality and his solemn nature seemed to coincide with his own, or at least with the man who had been known as Okeer. The two talked in length about the properties of being a good leader. Saarkiin listened intently as Ned questioned the rumors of his friend's, the king named Robert, poor kingcraft. He made a mental note of that for later. Saarkiin even met Ned's children. Two boys with one being illegitimate, a very young girl, a suckling babe, and his wife was expecting once again.

Saarkiin was reminded his former life as a poor adventurer and the two children he had adopted long ago after violently murdering a vile, terrible, sadistic old woman that ran the orphanage in which they lived. The two children had actually been quite happy about the whole ordeal. Saarkiin talked about his old children with Ned and Catlyn Stark as well, of course omitting the homicide and the fact that both children had died of old age years ago.

**_**Part VI**_**

Weeks and months passed as Saarkiin traveled back and forth from his home on Bear Island and Winterfell. After constantly hearing the words "Winter is Coming" Saarkiin had learned of the sporadic climate of this world. Long summers and even longer winters. They seemed to fear each coming winter cycle instinctively, which was still many years off.

Saarkiin, while on his way from Castle Volkihar to visit a northern settlement known as the Dreadfort, decided that after he conquered this world he would have to look into the matter of why the climate was so off. From what he could feel with his ethereal body this world was the same size and the same distance from its home star as Nirn had been. The weather patterns shouldn't be any different. Maybe it was the single moon rather than the two Nirn had?

Either way Saarkiin had decided that when the winds of winter came he would probably do the kingly thing and take the people of the North into his care. He and his servants were resistant to the cold and therefore they could move from town to town providing aid in exchange for payment when the deep snows fell and regular trading became impossible. He did not tell Ned of any of this but kept it as a thought for later.

The city of Winterfell would be the soil in which Saarkiin would sow the seeds of his new empire. However the Aedra had destroyed most of Saarkiin's armies of the undead. Therefore he surmised that it may take many years to gather enough dead from around the area and rebuild his forces.

Until then Saarkiin decided that he was going to keep to himself and quietly explore the rest of the North. What was important now was that he gather information on his surroundings. The first rule of grand warfare is to know how many enemies and variables exist throughout the country and beyond. Magic may seem be a null factor in this new world, but that didn't mean their gods don't exist.


	3. Encroaching Darkness

**_**Encroaching Darkness**_**

The Dreadfort turned out to be an ancient, run down fort ran by various bannerman loyal to house Stark. Since Saarkiin was undead he could feel the fear and animosity that the denizens of the Dreadfort felt towards the Starks. In the future after the conquests were complete, the North would be made an ally or be destroyed. The same stood for the people here at this downtrodden fort.

The dark lord and his current entourage entered the small city without conflict. The group consisted of Saarkiin and his personal Ebonygaurd, a group of elite warriors in legendary Ebony armor that would lay down their lives for their dark master. The Ebonygaurd was comprised of nine warriors: three vampires, three werewolves, and three draugr thralls that had been reanimated by Saarkiin himself.

The three vampires were Fura Bloodmouth, Orthjolf, and Vingalmo. All three were proven combatants skilled in melee and magic and senior members of Valerica's court. The three werewolves were Aela the Huntress and the two brothers Vilkas and Farkus. Each former members of the Companions and each had served time as Alphas of their own packs. The three remaining members were the draugr deathlords defeated and raised by Saarkiin: King Olaf One-Eye and the Gauldurson brothers Jyrik and Mikrul.

Saarkiin and his troops marched into the keep of the Dreadfort and met face to face with the Lord of the Dreadfort, Roose Bolton, who was waiting inside with many men at his side. It seemed that Lord Bolton had received a message warning of the approach of the "Black King of the West." From the very first moment the two met in the keep of the Dreadfort Roose Bolton attempted to intimidate the foreign king.

Lord Roose Bolton had banners bearing their sigil, the gruesome Flayed Man, on display on every wall on the fort and all the surrounding houses. Unused, X-shaped post meant for the torture of the living lined the lower walls of the keep underneath the hanging flags. Castle Volkihar had many similar devices scattered throughout the lower dungeons and unlike the ones that lined these walls, they saw regular use.

It had appeared that Lord Bolton's intimidation attempt had not only failed, it backfired. Saarkiin and all those in attendance with his current escort were in some form or fashion an undead or supernatural creature disguised in armor. They were all immune to such trivial attacks on the mind. The unmoving constitution of the ten individuals seemed to greatly disturb Lord Bolton, though his own facial expression barely changed.

"What brings the foreign king of the mythical western world to the Dreadfort?" demanded Lord Bolton, his voice smooth enough to hide his nervousness. "The letter from Winterfell said you were friendly explorers. What do friends on expedition need with such armor and weapons? Please, state your business or leave at once."

The door to the keep closed behind Saarkiin and the nine. Men of the Dreadfort began to surround the troop with hands on their weapons, ready to draw at any moment. Tension filled the room and a thick aura of murderous intent saturated the air. Saarkiin drew back the hood on his armor and the flesh on his face fell away into shadows and smoke. Underneath the hood a bare skull and the true face of death was revealed.

Roose Bolton's own face went pale as he stumbled backwards away from the image before him. The men of the Dreadfort pulled their swords and jumped back as well. Then the fleshless face said:

"Hear me, Lord and Knights of this dreaded fort. Here begins the reign of my new empire. I have read the gruesome history of the Dreadfort and house Bolton I have decided that this will be the perfect site for my experiments…"

Roose began to look back and forth, perhaps trying to find a way out. He turned and fled to the entrance way that led deeper into the fort. Saarkiin's form dissolved into shadows and reformed in front of Roose. An armored hand reached out from the shadows and grappled Lord Bolton by the jaw and he was lifted into the air.

"Do not run. This is a __gift.__ You should feel honored." Said the dark lord, tossing Lord Bolton into the arms of Fura Bloodmouth. "Fura, Orthjolf, Vingalmo, become as beasts and spread your gifts throughout the city. Every last man, woman, and child will become one with the night. No one leaves this place __'alive'."__

The three vampires of the Ebonygaurd exploded into hordes of bloody bats that swarmed every human inside the fort. They swarmed throughout the city and spread their "gifts" like a plague. In under a single night the Dreadfort was place under absolute control.

**_**Part II**_**

Several years had passed since Saarkiin had arrived in this new world. Since arriving in this world he had firmly put the Iron Islands and, secretly, the North into his pocket. The hundreds of new minions created at the Dreadfort had proven themselves invaluable. Roose Bolton and the rest of his family and bannerman had taken to their newfound gift of vampirism with gusto. Through them Saarkiin spread his influence across the North from the Wall to the Twins.

While the dark lords forces were hard at work spreading his influence and building his army Saarkiin himself spent most of his time in Winterfell, building key relationships with the people there. When traveling around the great expanse of the North Saarkiin kept his face of magic up at all times. For nostalgic reasons he found himself preferring to be referred to as Okeer when he hid his true face.

Okeer of the North became a widely known name and face of the coming and going foreigner. The Stark family, including the bastard child Jon Snow and ward of rebellion Theon Greyjoy, had likewise grown accustomed to seeing the busybody king inside the walls of Winterfell. Friendly old Black Oak some of the smallfolk had come to call him. A pet version of his proper human name, Okeer. He bid his servants to pay no heed to the disrespectful name as it was one step closer to having the most powerful family in the North trusting him.

Saarkiin observed Ned Stark growing older with time. While Saarkiin was timeless, the day would come when Ned would meet his end of days and the eldest boy would become the new lord of Winterfell. If he was to maintain a stable relationship with the North he would have to be seen in a positive light by the next generation as well.

The same path of logic applied to young Theon as well. One day the ward would take his father's place as Lord of Pyke and subsequently inherit the ironborn's responsibility to their god. Therefore Saarkiin chose to participate in the education and combat training of the young lords whenever he was available. Rodrick Cassel was a fine man-at-arms and trained the boys well enough, but the dark lord had over a centuries worth of military experience.

In the training yards he would show the three northern boys Jon, Robb, and Theon ways of the sword and bow no mortal of this land could imagine. Their training was tough, but Ned Stark had approved and allowed Saarkiin to hone the young men's skills with bow and blade.

As Saarkiin would make his rounds through the city on the days he spent in Winterfell he would notice that a young girl would follow him like a mouse, hiding whenever he turned to look at her. Finally on this day when he spotted her hiding behind the stables he chose to speak with her.

"Wolf-child, I am not prey to be stalked. Speak your mind." Said Saarkiin in his solemn voice. The girl timidly approached the dark lord and began to speak:

"T...those things you teach my brothers. Can you teach me?"

"Arya, is it?" asked Saarkiin rhetorically, looking down on the homely, tomboyish girl with brown hair. "Does your lord father not wish you to learn the arts of war?

"Girls aren't allowed to learn those kinds of things." She said, looking to the ground.

"In my kingdom anyone could be chosen to become my warriors. It did not matter your gender or role in society as long as you had the will to swing a weapon. As a king I am bound by no laws or traditions but my own. I will speak to your lord father on the matter. For now go run along and enjoy your youth." Said Saarkiin nodding his head.

Arya's face lit up and she took off towards the keep where she knew her brothers would be. Quite the willful girl to so boldly approach the imposing form of Sahrotalok-Dilon even if he was in human form. The dark king smiled and decided that he would indeed instruct the girl on his combative arts.

After a long philosophical debate with Ned about the militaristic compatibility of the sexes it was decided that when Saarkiin was available he could teach any child of the North to fight that was willing to learn, regardless of their gender or social standing.

Before too long Saarkiin was holding instructional courses for Arya and a diverse group of children alongside the other three boys. After a few sessions he began to bring Farkas and Aela along to help teach the course. The youth of Winterfell began to revere Saarkiin as their teacher and the future loyalty of the North was solidified.

A year later the time came. Saarkiin had ignored several summons from the King of the Seven Kingdoms, choosing instead to remain in the North traveling back and forth between Winterfell, the Iron Islands, and Castle Volkihar.

Now, according to Ned Stark, the King was riding north. However Saarkiin was relieved that Robert's intentions for riding North was to converse with Ned on the subject matter of the next Hand of the King. According to Saarkiin's spies Ned may have been chosen as the primary candidate for the position. Saarkiin then decided that he would meet this king when he came to Winterfell.

A few weeks pass and the King of the Seven Kingdoms arrived at the northern capital. A…passable royal procession made its way into the court square of the old city. A fat and unimpressive man with a dark beard dropped down from his white horse and looked around. Saarkiin was standing next to Ned and his family with all nine of his ebony-clad bodyguards standing behind him.

Saarkiin was in his solid black vampire light armor today with the Aethereal Crown on his brow. Ned and the rest of the present citizens of the North dropped to one knee in reverence of their king. Saarkiin did not budge, for his pride could never allow himself bow to a mortal man. Robert glared at the king in black and his face turned beet red, but he did not say anything. The king approached Ned and the two eyed each other.

"You got fat..." Said Robert. There was an awkward pause of silence before the two erupted into laughter and embraced. The two conversed a little more until Robert said: "Take me to the crypts. I want to pay my respects." With that the two departed.

**_**Part III**_**

Robert and Ned spent the majority of the day alone discussing royal and personal matters of importance. Therefore Saarkiin had chosen to spend his time becoming acquainted with the rest of Robert's own vassalage. He had met with several of the traveling nobles, followers, and knights in white armor as they passed through the city.

Towards the early afternoon Saarkiin decided that it was time to meet with the queen; a fair, blonde woman named Cersei Lannister. Despite her superficial politeness in her greeting Saarkiin could sense that his form and attire had impressed her enough to peek her interest.

"And what brings an imposing king such as yourself so far from home?" she had asked with a smirk on her face.

"I've been frequenting the North while looking to build good economic ties with the Seven Kingdoms. I feel that it is about time I personally met with my royal peers." He replied.

She seemed doubtful of his story so Saarkiin had decided convince her as he had done with so many others before. The two sat together in the main room of the east towers and Saarkiin enlightened Cersei with tales of his homeland. The sincerity of Saarkiin's recollection seemed to do the trick of convincing the blonde queen of his leadership status. This one didn't seem too bright so Saarkiin only questioned her about the nature of her husband's personality traits once the conversation shifted.

Saarkiin learned a great deal more information about Robert Baratheon, his rebellion, and the previously mentioned dragon family known as the Targaryens. He learned that their continued incestuous behavior had led to the previous king becoming touched by madness.

That kind of madness reminded Saarkiin of the mad Daedra, Sheogorath. If he had been present at the time he could have explored the Mad Kings mind using the Wabbajack and tamed the madness from within.

Perhaps he could have persevered the legacy of a family known for its past prowess of commanding dragons. He inquired to the whereabouts of any remaining Targaryens. Cersei shook her head and replied:

"We only heard a rumor that two children were smuggled to across the Narrow Sea into Essos. They've hopefully died in slavery by now." That disappointed Saarkiin. Without dragons around Saarkiin felt alone in the new world. Even though Serana was still with him Saarkiin still found that he even missed his backstabbing brother, Miraak. Truly he was the last Dragonborn.

With every question answered Saarkiin grew wearier of Cersei's wine-stained presence, so Saarkiin decided it was time to leave. However when the dark king made to leave Cersei blocked his path and bombarded him with more questions. He did not know if the woman was still suspicious of him or had become infatuated and was attempting to prolong their time together. Perhaps it had been the latter for Cersei had consumed a fair amount of wine during the conversation.

Eventually Saarkiin had to set her aside with a glare, a slight push, and a stern "Good Night, Madam." He left the room where the queen and her husband had been staying and returned to the outside world. The Ebonyguard returned to his side and he instructed them to meet up with Serana and be prepared to depart for Castle Volkihar at a moment's notice. The ebony warriors left and made their way back towards the house he had purchased earlier. Saarkiin continued onward to the great hall where the Stark family will be having a feast very shortly.

As he rounded by the blacksmith's forge he was stopped by several men in unfamiliar red and black armor with golden lion decals. Saarkiin crossed his hands behind his back and contemplated his next course of action should a need for confrontation arise. The men in armor stepped to the side to reveal a blonde man in a white, leather waistcoat. He had his sword drawn and clutched tightly in his right hand. He began to interrogate Saarkiin as to why he was alone with his sister. Saarkiin was visibly confused. When he had seen this man earlier it seemed that he and the other men in white armor this man had been with were the personal bodyguards of the king. He had no idea the queen was this one's sister.

It was a piece of information Saarkiin did not care to know. He did not care for this situation at all. The feast begins before nightfall and he wanted to be there in time to renew his impression on this regions king.

"I am unarmed and open now. I have not the time to play your games, boy. Swing at me or run to your beloved sister's teat and leave me be."

"You know, since you make the ridiculous claim that you are a king from a different country then our laws don't pertain to you. That means I could kill you right now and no one would bat an eye." Replied the blonde man with the same smirk that had been on Cersei's face. "I guess I'll live up to the name Kingslayer once again." The men in red and black chuckled at the notion.

"We're waiting…" replied Saarkiin as he opened up his arms wide and glared down at the arrogant kingsguard.

"Then why don't I teach you a lesson in respect. Before I kill you, go into the afterlife knowing you were cut down by Jamie Lannister." said the blonde man in white as he raised up his sword with both hands and made to run Saarkiin through the gut. He was faster than Saarkiin had anticipated, and where the man in white's body made to step to the right he instead moved to the left. Like a lighting strike a steal longsword came down on a dark silhouette.

Saarkiin's form dissolved and became engulfed with shadows as the sword's tip narrowly missed his physical body. He reappeared directly behind the man in an instant. The guard in white spun around but did not swing his sword, and their eyes met.

For a brief second the once arrogant man witnessed the face of truth. A fleshless face with dead lights for eyes glared back at Jamie. He dropped his sword and took several steps backwards from the dark figure. Before the white guard could say anything Saarkiin cut him off:

"You are strong, boy. _**_**But I am beyond strength…**_**_Know your place and you may live long enough to make something of yourself."

Jamie continued stepping backwards from Saarkiin while gaping his jaw, the blood draining from his face. The other men in the red and black armor had vanished, leaving him behind. The dark king turned away and continued on his trek towards the great hall while the shadows returned the face of Okeer. Luckily none of his own guards had been present for that altercation. The blonde man had acted so rashly that he didn't know if he could've stop his Ebonyguard from tearing him into pieces.

…...

Saarkiin made his way into the great banquet hall used by the Stark family of Winterfell. The servants were all still setting up the place so he decided to wait around awhile. Many people had already gathered and were conversing and eating bread. The two families of importance hadn't arrived save for one dark haired boy sitting at a table by himself. It was Jon Snow, the bastard son of Ned Stark. He had learned earlier that it was a shameful thing to conceive or be a bastard so Saarkiin had taken pity on the lad. Within Saarkiin's old empire the strong had been given free enterprise under his reign. Birthrights had no place within his society. The dark lord made his way over to the table and sat down next to Jon.

"Master Black Oak?" asked the confused boy.

"Are you surprised to see me here, lad?"

"No it just, you don't seem like the kind of person to take part in celebrations." Said Jon.

"The last time I celebrated anything beyond my marriage was with a man named Sam. The end results of our patronage were very strange." Said the old lord, further confusing Jon. So the two sat together and Saarkiin told him the tale of drinking with Sam the bard.

"So he turned out to be a __demon?"__ asked Jon.

"Indeed. He had been Sanguine, the Prince of Debauchery the entire time. I did things… I am not proud of…"

"...Okay then, master." Said Jon as he sat back, confused with a furrowed brow. Saarkiin leaned in and asked the boy what was on his mind. Jon was quiet for several moments. Then he said: "I've decided to devote my life to the Night's Watch."

Saarkiin had traveled to the far north himself in recent years during his dealings with the Dreadfort. Roose Bolton had escorted him all the way to the gigantic wall of ice simply known as The Wall to view its heights and its "gallant" defenders known as the Night's Watch. The place was, in reality, a variable prison for the rejected of society. The boy did not deserve a life like that. In the days they spent together in the training yard he had seen that Jon was a far superior fighter than the rest of his stock. Indeed Saarkiin sensed a presence in the boy that was familiar, as he did with many things of this world.

He considered offering the boy asylum within Castle Volkihar. As Sahrotalok-Dilon and Ruler of Death he could grant the boy vast powers beyond his current comprehension. Jon would have a real home and a purpose. His service to Saarkiin's dark armies would grant him the peace he desires. However he was still just a boy. Saarkiin decided that he would not persuade Jon to abandon his folly. The Wall will break the boy and a man of war shall return. Then he will be collected by his servants.

Saarkiin reached into the coat of his light armor and pulled out an amulet. He handed it to Jon Snow and said; "This trinket is known as the Amulet of Talos. It will grant you protection from the cold, give you strength, and your voice may carry the weight of an emperor should you find yourself in a position of command."

"Is that a real magic talisman?" Jon asked skeptically.

"Indeed. Use it wisely my student. Have a safe journey north." Jon bowed his head and thanked his master-at-arms. With that Saarkiin got up to move to the main table. The banquet had begun and the two families started to enter. In respect Ned Stark had granted Saarkiin and Serana a place at the main table next to his own family. Serana sat on the farthest end while he sat between her and the young boy, Brandon.

The boy sat and beamed a smile at the dark lord as he scooted closer to Serana. Earlier that day the daft child had fallen out of a tower while climbing and nearly gotten himself killed. Fortunately for him Saarkiin had been walking by the tower when the child plummeted and used Telekinesis to grab him from the sky and set him gently down.

"__If you must be ignorant then wear this…"__ Saarkiin had said as he put an amulet of featherweight around his neck. It had been altered to prevent any fall damage and would protect this child from his own stupidity. Now Bran saw Saarkiin as a savior figure and followed him around as did the rest of the wolf children of house Stark.

The feast went on without issue. Now people were full on meat and mead and moving around conversing with one another. Saarkiin had introduced Serana to Cersei, to his wife's displeasure, and the two talked at length about Cersei's brother. Saarkiin himself was now sitting at a table and drinking with Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon. He had noticed that the man in the white waistcoat wasn't attending the feast.

Robert soon became under the influence of his wine and was mocking Jamie for looking like he had pissed himself earlier when he had returned to his duties as Kingsguard. The fat, old king kept having the servants pour more and more wine as he too bombarded Saarkiin with dozens of questions. Saarkiin had kept up with every drink that the king had taken by using alteration to hold the alcohol in a space within his ethereal stomach.

Saarkiin could tell that Robert kept up drinking as a show of contest against his fellow king, not understanding that Saarkiin was incapable of becoming intoxicated. With each passing round it seemed that Robert grew fonder of someone who could hold their liquor as well as he could.

Finally the old king finished himself off and passed out in his chair after great protest from Ned, who cut off the king's supply of wine. Saarkiin had grown greatly bored of the banquet at that point. He decided for himself that he did not care too much for this simpleton of a king and bid Eddard Stark farewell, leaving him behind to deal with the slumped over sovereign.

Saarkiin and Serana returned to the property they had purchased in Winterfell. After shutting the door Saarkiin turned to Serana and said while shaking his head; "Taking over this country will be like taking cheese from a dead skeever."

"Yeah that king and queen seemed like complete imbeciles. The dwarf wasn't half bad though. He gave me quite a few compliments. He followed me around the hall after I ditched Cercei. Such a sweet little man."

"What dwarf?" Asked Saarkiin, confused.

"The queen's brother?"

"He wasn't a dwarf. He was a prick."

"I guess she has two brothers then." Replied Serana, throwing up her hands.

"I see…" Saarkiin wondered if there were any more Lannister brothers roaming around. Saarkiin's body then became shrouded in shadows. When the shadows cleared he was returned to his Skeleton Lord form and wore his legendary hooded Ebony Mail.

Saarkiin and Serana descended into the cellar of the old house Saarkiin had gotten fairly cheap off of Ned. He stood before a large well that had been dug out very recently. Serana held out her hand and cut it open with a dagger. She then poured her blood into a brazier containing special ingredients brought from Castle Volkihar.

When her blood came into contact with the other ingredients a light came from the well. A portal to the Soul Cairin opened in the well right before them. With this Saarkiin can use the Soul Cairin to move himself and his undead servants between Winterfell and Castle Volkihar on Bear Island.

"Let us return home Serana, and prepare our forces. By the end of this year I will see to it that we take King's Landing and the remaining five kingdoms. War is on the horizon. I can feel it in my bones…"


	4. An Old Friend Named Death

**_**An Old Friend Named Death**_**

Saarkiin looked out over the ethereal expanse that lay before the black tower. He was inside the Soul Cairin overseeing the construction of the soldiers that would make up the brunt of his army. Hundreds of thousands of bonemen, mistmen, shades, and wraithmen stood in rows upon rows in front of the black tower, awaiting orders from their dark lord.

"Soon my soldiers…" said Saarkiin in his grim tone. He looked up into the sky of the Soul Cairin and saw the shades of several dragons flying through the ethereal air. When Saarkiin had become a Skeleton Lord his body had become something of a conduit of the Soul Cairin and the many souls of dragons that he had devoured before and after becoming a true undead had ended up here as __dov-sah__, or dragonshades. Saarkiin could call them to the battlefield to serve under Durnehviir.

It had been several months since Saarkiin had left Winterfell and he hadn't returned since. According to his sources Ned, his house guard, and his two daughters had vacated Winterfell to live at the nation's capital for the time being. Saarkiin did not have any spies within the city of King's Landing at the moment so all contact with the Starks within the city had been lost.

It did not matter, however. When he found a close enough region to open a sizable portal then Saarkiin may call forth his armies and seize the capital, no matter the cost. If the Starks within the capital did not resist then they may be gently returned to their ancestral home. The dark lord would not be completely without mercy. After all, he liked wolves.

Saarkiin began to reminisce about the past as he looked over the dark tower's balcony and into the ethereal skies. It had been many long years since he had come to this world and he wondered if he would ever see Nirn again. Again, it did not matter. As an undead Saarkiin's emotions rarely wavered and his thoughts remained focused. His nature had come with a price, but he felt that it was more of a blessing. According to Serana, she had feared the man she had once known as Okeer. She said that man became beyond drunk with power just as her father before.

However Saarkiin made the ultimate sacrifice to save Serana, Miraak, and himself from the slavery of the Daedra. After the birth of Saarkiin and Miraak's bi-global empires the Daedra began to grow hungry for what was theirs. As a Daughter of Coldharbor Serana belonged to Molag Bal. The Deadra had sent several dremora lords to attack and kidnap Serana and Saarkiin declared war upon the Prince to reclaim her.

Though Miraak had been freed from the grasp of Hermaes Mora, the twisted god still owned his soul and would constantly rock Miraak's mind with dreadful nightmares. After Saarkiin had declared open war on Molag Bal, Miraak followed suit and declared war on Hermeas Mora. With Miraak's aid Saarkiin had plummeted into Oblivion and rescued Serana, barely escaping the wrath of the dark god. Together over the next several years Miraak, Saarkiin, and Serana fought a losing battle against the combined might of Hermaes Mora and Molag Bal.

Truly it had been madness to declare war on a Daedra, let alone two. Saarkiin, who in his previous life had split his soul in seventeen ways to appease each Daedric Prince, knew that the day would come when all of those demons would come and tear him to shreds. So he did the last thing he had ever done as a corporal being. Through the Elder Scrolls he gave himself into unlife and became the Skeleton Lord, Sahrotalok-Dilon.

Unbound from the limits of the flesh Saarkiin scoured the four Elder Scrolls in his possession for a spell that could undo the Daedra. In the Scroll of Oblivion Saarkiin had discovered that using a deadric artifact derived from a particular Daedra in conjunction with the Elder Scroll of Oblivion then he could pull that Daedra from their plain of Oblivion. They would be pulled into Nirn in a limited, tangible, and vulnerable form. Yet they would still remain nigh indestructible and immensely powerful.

One by one Saarkiin drew the Daedra from their home plains and forced each one of them into submission with his, Serana's, and Miraak's overwhelming armies. Then they sealed them away within their respective artifacts and separating them from their plains of Oblivion permanently, and by the end of the campaign he, Serana, and Miraak had subjugated all seventeen of the major Daedric Princes.

Saarkiin himself had become more powerful than anyone could have possibly foreseen. He had gained the ability to evoke the power of each of the seventeen Daedra through their individual artifacts when wielded by him and him alone. However, since coming to this new world, the artifacts had returned to their original states before the sealing of the Daedra.

At one time Saarkiin had stood as the most powerful being in all of Nirn and Oblivion, and the Aedra had feared that he would one day set his eyes on the rest of Mundus and Aetherius. Perhaps they had been right. Ever since Saarkiin had known of his heritage as dragonborn he had always thirsted for power and dominion over all things.

Even with Saarkiin's insatiable greed he had still been seen as a good emperor. Or at least he was before the war with the Aedra. Due to his undead nature Saarkiin was not hindered by desire of the flesh or the need for gratification. Once the conquest were concluded he had taken hard to the notion of serving his people. Under his leadership the people had prospered and the races were united. Petty civil wars, holy wars, wars of ascension, and cold wars had all come to an end.

The undead skeletons summoned by Saarkiin's Necromancers worked the fields and toiled in the mines, fought the battles and protected the villages, and took care of any of the dirty business no one wanted to do. The mortals living under Saarkiin's rule needed and wanted for nothing. They were, however, expected to train. To improve. To seek out new horizons in magic, technology, medicine, education, infrastructure, combat, and philosophy.

That world was gone now, taken by self-righteous gods because someone dared to do __better. __It did not matter. What mattered was now. Here in this new world Saarkiin would spread his imperial influence across the land and once again reign supreme. This time there were no gods to stop him.

"Soon my soldiers…" he said once again, the dead lights of his eyes becoming more intense. "We will spread across the earth like a flood. This world will bow and I shall once again reign as a god…among mortal men…"

Saarkiin turned away from the balcony and made his way towards the portal below. He entered through the portal and arrived in Valerica's workshop. He then made his way towards his armory on the left wing of Castle Volkihar. In the armory was a table on which sixteen of the seventeen Deadric artifacts laid bare, with the seventeenth artifact currently being worn by the dark lord himself. He had been examining their properties as of late and had come up with something of an idea. Perhaps one day he would distribute the artifacts to worthy champions within this world and observe if the weapons changed their behavior.

As Saarkiin mused over the artifacts a shadow appeared behind him. A nightingale had appeared and was bowing deeply. He turned to the nightingale to receive her report. As she finished relaying the message Saarkiin reached up and pinched the bridge of his bony nose. King Robert was dead, mortally wounded in a drunken excursion with a boar.

As of this moment Ned Stark was imprisoned, one of his daughters was being held captive, and the other had gone missing. Robb Stark had also called his banners and mustered the armies of the North to march south. The Lannister army marches north to intercept Robb, the Reach is preparing for battle with the Stormlands over which of Roberts brothers is the rightful heir, and people were crowning themselves kings at the drop of a hammer.

Saarkiin threw his head back and let out a maniacal laugh before quickly returning to his usual self. He hadn't even lifted a single bony finger and this imbecile king had gotten himself killed without leaving an impartial line of succession and let his kingdom be torn apart from the inside. Robert had practically done most of the work through his own incompetence. Now he could allow the various kingdoms of the region to fight to the point of exhaustion and take the land with minimal effort.

"And so the war has begun in haste... My soldiers may come out to play sooner than I thought…" said the grim man. "Go now. Assemble my war council. My designs are changing…"

**_**Part II**_**

Darkness. There was nothing but darkness. Ned Stark sat in the corner of his Black Cell and contemplated the events that had transpired in the past several months. He sighed deeply as he realized over and over that everything he had ever fought for was about to come to an end. It wouldn't be long now.

Ned felt as if he had been in this cell for days and he would be brought forth before the new king and sentenced. Several people had stopped by to visit Ned and several of them had promised Ned that the Wall would be his destiny. But the old northerner knew better. He knew that his destiny was the gallows.

The best Ned knew he could hope for was to say the words King Joffery wanted to hear and do as much damage control as possible. Then maybe his daughters would go unharmed for the time being. That was all he wanted. Ned reached out and rubbed his throbbing leg and recalled the event of the injury. He had seen a strange look in Jamie's eye after their ill-fated duel. He had stood over the injured Stark and said:

"__You were strong, Ned. But I've seen what lies beyond strength. There are some heights that just cannot be reached. Do yourself a favor and remain in the dirt. It's safer there."__

What had Jamie meant by that? He mused over the comment as he had absolutely nothing else better to do other than to count the drips of water. As of this moment Ned wished that he had taken Jamie's advice and remained in the dirt and mud. He wished that Robert had lived or that he hadn't trusted Littlefinger. Nothing had ever gone Ned's way and he was ready for the end.

Deep down, Ned wished he could touch those heights Jamie had spoken of. He had prayed day and night to the old gods, but he feared that he was too far away from the weirwood for his thoughts to be heard. Therefore he was once again and always alone in this darkness. Ned thought to close his eyes and wished that they would never open, but before he did he saw something wavering in the darkness.

The blackness of the cell began to shimmer like a cloud of smoke. Soon two pale lights took form within the wavering darkness, illuminating the cell. Ned narrowed his eyes and when they adjusted to the new source of light he was able to make out what he was seeing before him. A white face of bone beaming a grim grin down at the desolate Stark. It was Death.

Ned would've screamed but he had awaited this visit for a very long time now. It was as if he was looking on the face of an old friend. He wanted to speak but no words came so he just laid against the wall staring at the specter. Then it spoke.

"Hello Ned." It said in a familiar voice. Ned furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Is this a trick of my mind? Have I gone mad?"

"Indeed you have, but I am not a product of your madness. In fact you may remember me as an old friend."

"I have been friends with Death for some time now. A shame this is our final moment together." Said Ned with a painful chuckle.

"No, Eddard Stark. Hear my voice again. I have returned to you in your hour of need." Said the apparition. Then it finally occurred to the old Stark.

"Saarkiin…"

"It is I… As of this moment you are witness to truth." Said the solemn voice. Ned could no longer contain himself. He erupted into manic laughter. He bellowed joyously for several moments before he ran out of breath. The grim grin of the skull seemed to grow, though nothing changed.

"So what brings the King of Skyrim to the darkest corner of the world?"

"I come with an offer. Here and now you may choose to live or to die. I am your salvation."

"Why am I worth all of this trouble?" said Ned, still half convinced that he was hallucinating. "Why me?"

"It is a simple answer, Ned. I like wolves." He said lowly. Ned's face was a mix of emotion and confusion. "First, a story. Long ago a man limped out of the wilderness and into an open field. Poor, wounded, and ridden with disease the man inched closer to a city that would grant him asylum. But the life drained from his knees and he could go no farther. In that moment a giant had appeared. It raised its great mace high into the air and the man braced himself to accept the sweet embrace of death.

Yet before death could take him the wolves came. Loyal companions from the city came in earnest and swept away the giant. They took the poor man into their home and blessed him with food and drink. When the man was fully healed he set out with the blessing of the wolves to fulfill his destiny. From that point forward the man had always held reverence for the wolf. Today he strives to live by their example and offers asylum to another stray wolf in need."

Ned understood. He asked what was needed of him and a bone white hand clasping something reached out to the disabled Stark. The skeletal hand opened and revealed a silver ring with a wolves head carved into it.

"What is it?" asked Ned, hesitant to touch the thing.

"This is the Ring of Hircine. Take it and know true strength. The power of the Wolf."

"What is the price of this strength?" asked Ned recalling the words from Jamie.

"Loyalty…" replied the grim form.

"No…" said Ned, his hand and head dropping. The skeletal hand clasped the ring once again and pulled away. The other skeletal hand reached out and cupped Eddard's left cheek, lifting up his head.

"Many would take you as a fool, Ned Stark. I honor your decision. Your battles have been long, and they have been hard. Now you may rest."

"…Thank you…" whispered the hopeless Stark. The specter rose and began to move away. Before it could disappear Ned called out to it. "Please do me one last favor."

"Of course." Replied the grim voice.

"Please protect my daughters. Help them return home." Pleaded the old lord.

"I've already told you, Ned. I __like__ wolves…"

The darkness returned to the Black Cell and Ned smiled to himself.

__**Part III**__

The dark overlord paced back in forth within the great hall of Castle Volkihar. Serana was standing in the archway of one of the side corridors directing concerned glances towards her skeletal husband. She walked up behind him while he was deep in thought and threw her arms around his thin waist. He wasn't wearing his usual legendary armor but instead wore his fine, black hooded robes.

"What's wrong?" asked the vampire bride.

"…He chose death…" replied Saarkiin in a tone that was a bit more solemn than usual. While it may have been true that his original and ultimate goal had been to test the power of the Ring of Hircine on a third party subject of the new world he had still felt a slight loss when he was refused by Ned Stark.

Over the years he had spent traveling back and forth from Winterfell he had developed a kinship towards him. Since Ned had accepted the idea that Saarkiin was indeed a foreign king he opened his home to host Saarkiin every time he'd return to the northern city. On many occasions Ned and Saarkiin had sat by the hearth, drank, and reminisced about their respective pasts.

Saarkiin had grown fond of the North. To him it felt like he was once again in Skyrim. It felt like home. In his fondness he had found himself attached to the Starks and the wholesome people of Winterfell. He had decided that when his campaign to conquer this continent was over then he would build his imperial city around Winterfell. It would be a capital city that would be strategically impregnable and beyond the reach of any future enemies.

He stood their silently with Serana for a moment before he spoke out once more.

"I had thought myself beyond the notion of kinship with such lowly mortals. Indeed I have fallen far from the pedestal I once presented myself on. I'd rather prefer it this way. It keeps the time from draining away too fast."

"I knew there was plenty of good still left in those old bones of yours. I'm glad I'm still here with you. I like this side of yours. Though I'd rather you cheer up." Said Serana with a smile.

"And I am glad this dusty, old skeleton can still make you smile."

"You always make me smile." She replied. Serana reached up and placed a kiss on his bony cheek. The two remained close together for some time. After a while a vampire nightstalker appeared out of the shadows before them, as they always did.

"Any information gathered from that member of the Night's Watch we captured? Yoren, was his name?" asked Saarkiin.

"Yes, my Lord." Said the nightstalker. "He finally told us what was in the jar of black liquid that he was carrying…after some persuasion."

"Oh?"

"It was the remains of an undead. He described something similar to a draugr. However the hand had since dissolved. We could find out no more." Said the vampire, bowing his head deeply.

"Interesting… So this world has naturally accruing undead. We will have to investigate this in the future. For now we shall remain focused on the task at hand. Dispose of the man as you see fit."

"So what's your next move?" asked Serana.

"Once the execution is complete and the populace of King's Landing is complacent once more I shall activate my heralds of darkness and give the old shades of the Greybeards something to do. It is time that I stopped living in the shadows and make myself known to this world."

"I'm tired of this dank, old castle too. It would be splendid to see some new sights."

"Indeed… I shall go to the capitol under the guise of parlay. Once my Legion of Dusk and I are within the city we will secure it for ourselves. The Lannister army will then have to retreat to the capitol to retake it. There I shall demonstrate myself to the world. They will bend the knee or they will perish. Then I can focus on taking the southernmost kingdoms that have crowned their own kings."

With the plan laid out Saarkiin and Serana made their way towards the armory. Saarkiin unlocked a master lock on a glass box and pulled out a katana with an ebony sheath. He drew the sword and examined the long, black blade.

"Nox Mortem…my old companion." He said, slowly examining the blade form tip to guard. The blade was an enchanted Akavir katana that was even beyond the power of many of the Daedric artifacts. Its enchantment was that it became more powerful in the hands of someone whose affinity with conjuration and the plains of Oblivion were phenomenal. To your average swordsman it was just another sword, but in Saarkiin's capable hands it could slay gods. __(A/N: normally 91 dmg at max lvl. +219 dmg with max conj/all perks.)__

Saarkiin placed the sword at his side and turned to Serana.

"I'm going to see King's Landing for myself before we begin our operation. I will return promptly…"

"You're not going to go watch the execution are you?"

"…I might..."

**_**Part IV**_**

Arya pounced at the pigeon, catching it in her scrawny, dirty hands. It had been several days since she had escaped from the city and she had barely eaten a thing since. Perhaps she could pluck the feathers and cook up this bird, but it was filthy and the little girl didn't know how to properly prepare a fowl for cooking. Maybe she could trade it to someone who knew how.

After several attempts to trade off the dead bird she discarded it and decided to think of a new way of finding sustenance. That was when she saw a crowd gathering towards the Sept of Baelor. It could only be for one thing, she knew deep down. So she rounded the alleyway and made her way towards the crowd. Distracted, she did not see the man in a white armor approach her from behind.

A leather, gloved hand reached out and grappled the girl by her long brown hair. The man twisted her neck around and threw the girl into the wall, pinning her there. She couldn't move enough to reach for Needle, a tiny rapier that was given to her by one of her brothers. When she saw the man's face she vaguely recognized him. It was one of the Kingsgaurd, though Arya did not know his name. He had a mushed face with short black hair and a black beard. She tried to twist out of his grip and use the techniques that her old master from back at Winterfell had taught her, and the new ways of swordplay she had learned from her Bravossi master, Syrio Forel.

"I saw you sneaking around girl. I know who you are." Said the man with a sneer.

"I'm no one, just a peasant girl." She pleaded.

"You're Arya Stark. I've been keeping my eye on you and your sister. I'm going to take you and throw you in front of the queen. She'll deal with you then. Though I don't think she'll mind if I take you behind the pub and teach you a few lessons first." Arya struggled to free herself but another leather glove closed around her throat. She wanted to scream but darkness and tears began to fill her eyes. As the tears welled up her thoughts turned to her father, her brother Jon, and her master-at-arms Old Black Oak…

"Release the child…" said a grim, harsh voice. The Kingsgaurd let go of the girls face and turned to the newcomer down the alley.

"Who the fuck are you?" spit the white knight at a man wearing a hooded robe. Suddenly he vanished. The knight looked from left to right scanning for what he had just seen. The robed man was gone, then he reappeared inches from the knight's face. He made to scream but a skeletal hand clasped around his own throat. Another hand reached around a grasped the side of his face. A skull's face sat near his own, pale lights staring into his own eyes."

"Look into my eyes mortal. Know despair." Said the face of Death. Then the knight's world was darkness. He looked around, confused and frantic. He was in King's Landing but now it was like he was in a cave with no light source. Then he saw it again. A bare skeleton stood before him. He was terrified but he could no longer move his body or even speak. The skeleton raised its hand and said: _**"Fall."**_

The knight dropped to his knees. The skeleton approached and produced a strange object. It was a black skull with twisted horns on long, twisted spine.

"Behold the Skull of Corruption..." Said the skeleton, raising the skull-like staff. "You are a coward. I damn you to a coward's life. You knew the price of evil; now you shall embrace your nightmare."

In the outside world the white knight let out a whimper as his hair and beard turned as white as his armor. He then fled, babbling as he stumbled down the alleyway. The shadows returned bone into flesh once again.

…..

Arya did not know what had happened. She herself had nearly passed out but now she was being carried by someone familiar, but cold. She finally came to her senses and opened her eyes. She had thought she had seen the god of death Syrio had spoken to her about. Though still weary she whispered: "Not today…"

"Awaken child. You'll need to bare witness to this event. It will impart an important lesson on the reality of the world." Said the grim voice. He was holding the young girl in his arms while the two were standing next to a statue among the crowd. He sat the girl down on the base of the statue so she could see the event clearly.

"Master Okeer!" she screamed, throwing her arms around Saarkiin's neck. The girl began to sob into his robes. She recalled the events that had transpired since the two last seen one another. She then begged Saarkiin to tell her why he had never came back. Everything had gone wrong when he stopped coming to Winterfell.

"I understand, child. I am here now. Look, to the sept. It is your father." Said Saarkiin as the headsman took Ned Stark out onto the sept and kicked him to his knees. A young man with a smug face known as King Joffery began his speech about himself and the condemned.

"You're the strongest person I know. You can save him master Okeer. Please!" pleaded Arya, tugging on his robes.

"…I tried…" he said lowly. "Your lord father has made his peace."

"But why…" she sobbed.

"Hush, child." He said, nodding his head towards her father. "Do not look away."

Joffery had finished his speech and asked the old northern lord what he would say in his defense. Ned looked into the crowd, and his eyes locked on Saarkiin and Arya. Saarkiin looked into Ned's eyes and nodded his head. Ned looked up at his other daughter, Sansa, and then back to Saarkiin. He nodded his head once again. Then he saw Ned beam a smile. He took a deep breath and then said:

"I, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, declare that Joffery Baratheon is a false king. He is not the heir of Robert. He is the incestuous product of Jamie and Cersei Lannister. I attempted to seize the throne for the rightful king and heir, Stannis Baratheon. Now I shall die for what I have discovered. However, in my darkest hour I discovered my new king, and his name is Death."

Joffery and Cersei began to yell and call Ned a liar. Then in his passion Joffery called for his head. Ned continued to smile at Saarkiin even as his head began to roll. Saarkiin reached into his pocket and pulled out a black soul gem. It began to glow darkly and he returned it to his robes. When he had placed his hand on Ned in the Black Cells he had cast a permanent soul bound spell. __Death will not be the end for you, my friend. Rest for now within the Soul Cairin and one day I will reform a new Sovngarde for you and your family.__

"The time has come. It is here. Follow me child. We have preparations to make." And with that Saarkiin and a sobbing Arya turned to depart. A longboat was docked in the bay and they would take it to Saarkiin's ship anchored just off the horizon. As they made their way through the crowd Arya noticed that everyone began to look up.

Black clouds had begun to form in the sky and swirl over the city. Then four powerful shades descended from the eye of swirling storm clouds. They hovered over the audience of the execution and presented themselves before the Sept of Baelor. Everyone present was silent as the grave.

"The Great One has demanded an audience with the new king of this region!" announced the first shade.

"Send a messenger to the Iron Islands to accept the Eternal One's parlay!" proclaimed another.

"Do not hesitate... Wasting time is to spit in the Supreme One's face!" declared the third.

"Should you deny the Almighty One then you invite Death upon your kingdom!" threatened the fourth.

Then the four shades became as smoke and blew away in the wind. The skies cleared away and the nice, sunny day returned…

**_**Part V**_**

Several days had passed since the execution. The night was black and moonless as the camp fires around King's Landing illuminated Black Water Bay. A vast, dark, and dreadful ship drifted into the bay. It was a huge vessel that seemed to be carried on a mist. Dense fog rolled in all the way to the beachhead that separated the sea from the walls of the Red Keep.

Soldiers in red and black armor or in golden cloaks rushed to the tops of the castle walls to watch the massive, black galleon make its way closer to the shore. Once the ship had come to a certain distance it stopped and dropped its anchor. Even though the fog was thick the vessel was large enough to rise above the clouds of mist. On its bow it read __Dreamweaver II.__

After several moments four longboats cut through the water and made landfall on the shores of King's Landing. Standing at the head of the main longboat was the king in black, Saarkiin. In the remaining longboats were that dark kings personal bodyguards. Nine soldiers adorned with legendary ebony armor and weapons. The dark king himself wore his Ebony Mail as well, though a nightingale hood and mask covered his skeletal face. Soon several dozen more longboats began to hit the beach and many more soldiers in shining black, elven-like armor began to spill onto the sand.

All longboats had made landfall and three-hundred soldiers stood on the beach at attention. Saarkiin and his Ebonyguard formed ranks before the small army and marched towards the gates of the city. On queue the gates opened for Saarkiin and his troops. He had sent his four heralds of darkness ahead to announce that a foreign king wished to parlay with the newly crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms and his arrival had been keenly anticipated. Lannister soldiers and men in golden cloaks lined the streets ready for battle at a moment's notice. Tensions were high throughout the silent city.

All eyes were on the dark procession as they made their way towards the Red Keep. The drawbridge dropped and the three-hundred and ten people crossed into the keep. After several more moments of marching the dark legions filled the great hall of the Red Keep. A young, blonde king sat upon a throne made of melted swords with five knights in pristine, white armor standing before him in a protective manner. Saarkiin had recently heard the legend of the thrones forging. The story of a dragonkings siege of these Seven Kingdoms had strangely made him feel proud of the so called 'blood of the dragon' that had come before.

A mortal herald called out the many titles of the young king. King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Relm, ect… Saarkiin was barely paying attention while he was staring the boy king down. When the herald finished the young king stood up and said:

"After all these years of refusing my father's summons to this court you choose now to appear. Were you so afraid of my father or did you think I would be less terrifying?" he said with that same damn smirk he had seen on Jamie and Cersei's smug faces. He must've forgotten the terror imparted by the shades. __Then he shall be reminded…__

Saarkiin did not answer and when the blonde king opened his mouth to speak again Saarkiin cut him off:

"Truly this young world is filled with children pretending to be kings…" said the solemn voice of the dark lord.

"What did you say?" Said the boy king with a low, angry tone.

"How dare you speak to your king with such impudence?!" said the eldest of the knights in white.

"__My __king?!" Saarkiin cut in with a roar. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the keep shook while the fires in the braziers and hearths dimmed for a second. His Thu'um may be weakened by this world but his voice still carried the weight of dragons. The hall was silent and the mood and expressions on the boy king and his knights had changed drastically, their hands sitting nervously on their swords. Saarkiin remained silent as well. Perhaps now they remembered the heralds of darkness and what kind of king they were dealing with

The boy, King Joffery, eventually got out words of welcome to the foreign king. Then Joffery timidly asked what business Saarkiin had for parlaying between kings. The dark lord held out his arms as if holding something and began to speak.

"Hear me, people of Kings Landing. This is no 'parlay'. I have come to peacefully occupy your city for the time being. Do not resist and you may retain your positions of power, for now. Even you, boy…"

"W-what d-did…" Joffery stammered. It seemed that the boy was at a loss for words.

"We invite you into our kingdom to make peace between our countries and the first thing you do is declare that you own the place? You dare?!" spoke out the eldest knight once again.

"Be quiet, Semly!" yelled the boy king. He was extremely nervous and kept looking back and forth from Saarkiin to presumably his mother in the loft above. "What do you mean by occupy?" he asked.

"I shall henceforth remain in this city and observe it as overlord. You may continue to rule as you have and I will not interfere unless I see fit to. If you comply then you can rest assured that you have a powerful ally for any conflicts to come. If you resist then you will know death and despair. Your castle will fall, your city will burn, and blood will run the streets."

"That is enough! This is absurd! You are an abomination in the Light of the Seven!" cried out the white knight the boy had called Semly. He pulled his sword and stepped forward and the other knights followed suit.

"Vilkas… kill him…" said Saarkiin grimly. A single ebony warrior stepped forward. Within seconds he drew his two-handed ebony ax and drove the dark blade into the shoulder of the old knight. It bit through his blocking sword, his armor, and his torso, removing his left arm and a chunk of his chest.

The four remaining Kingsguard took several steps backwards. The knight in ebony returned to his position in the formation. Saarkiin reached out with his hand and pointed it at the body. "Now fallen knight… rise."

The undead corpse of the knight lurched upwards and shambled away to take its place at the rear of the ranks. Everyone in the great hall was speechless and horrified. Breaking the silence Saarkiin said:

"I believe we have reached an accord. I will remain in the nearby temple. Remember well the despair all of you witnessed here today…"

Saarkiin marched off and crossed the city into the temple known as the Sept of Baelor. The denizens of the sept scattered at the sight of the dark men. Many dropped to their knees and began to praise him as a deity they called "The Stranger." Saarkiin was indeed a stranger. A befitting title so therefore he tolerated the people of Kings Landing calling him the Stranger.

Inside the Sept of Baelor and away from prying eyes one of the Ebony warriors removed their helmet to reveal that it was Serana. She pulled out several bottles of ingredients and completed the ritual at the center of the large temple. A portal to the Soul Cairin opened up and engulfed the floor. More soldiers in the black, elven-like armor began to rise up slowly from the portal.

"Come my soldiers. The city is ripe with fear. Their warriors are away at war. March forth. Secure the walls. No one leaves or enters this city. Do not kill the mortals unless provoked." Said Saarkiin as he urged on his comrades of darkness. The dark army spread through the city and it was taken before sunrise with only a handful of casualties.

Saarkiin turned to face Serana and he watch her throw her hands on her hips and say:

"That was easy."


	5. Beyond Strength

**_**Beyond Strength**_**

Saarkiin sat upon a throne that had been constructed within the main hall of the Sept of Baelor, which was now referred to by the local populace as the Sept of the Stranger. A nightingale knelt before him and relayed the location of the Lannister army. Saarkiin had allowed the maester of the city to release a single raven carrying a message for the lords of house Lannister stating that the capitol had been taken by a foreign entity.

It would appear, however, that the Lannister army had chosen to not take the bait and ignore the message. They continued with their campaign towards the north. Saarkiin noted that it was an intelligent move by the Lannisters. If they had turned around and marched south to retake the city then there would have been a strong possibility that the northern army would have gave pursuit. Then they would have been crushed against the walls of King's landing between two opposing forces.

Once the nightingale had finished her report she disappeared into shadows and Saarkiin stepped down from his throne and surveyed the empty room. He had studied the original idols of the temple and had concluded that the Seven were blatantly fabricated gods designed to fit a mortal agenda.

That was when Saarkiin had the idea the knock the idols down and replace them with alters dedicated to the Daedra. Perhaps if he garnered worship of the Daedric Princes then they could somehow be summoned to this world, especially once he found devoted champions to impart the Daedric Artifacts upon. Then perhaps he would regain access to the plains of Oblivion and the power of magicka would return.

Now smaller idols to the seventeen relevant Daedra now occupied the rounded walls of the sept's main hall. During certain periods throughout each day for the past week he would allow all kinds of people to enter the temple and be beholden to these new gods. Saarkiin would sit upon the throne and recollect various legends that concerned each of the Daedric Princes to the curious masses. He would always be in his hooded Ebony Mail, the staff known as the Skull of Corruption at his side like a scepter, and he no longer hid his true face from the mortals.

The reveal of his true self had surprisingly not been too shocking to the residence of King's Landing, though their fear remained plainly visible. Even the Stark children quickly accepted the bony face of their savior. Arya and Sansa, now free to roam the city under the escort of his loyal Dusk Legionnaires, spent a great deal of time within the temple or exploring the cities nightlife with Serana. During their time in the temple Arya had taken a keen interest in the statue of Nocturnal while Sansa took a liking towards the statue of Meridia.

Saarkiin decided to leave the confines of the temple for some fresh air, though he did not have the need to breath. He stepped out into the sunlight and began to wonder the streets while several Dusk Legionnaires formed ranks behind him. As they marched down the street the people of King's Landing would bow deeply as he strode by. It had taken little provocation for the common folk of the city to accept their new overlord, especially after the Greyjoy fleet began to deliver food and supplies from Slaver's Bay on behest of Saarkiin once all trade with the Reach had ceased.

The people of the Reach had declared their own king while the people of the Stormlands had declared theirs. Both were brothers to the recently deceased Robert and both sought to take the capitol by right of either birth or conquest. The two armies to the south were beginning to grow and with Saarkiin's ever waning powers a joint attack from the two would be a difficult situation to navigate.

The dark lord strode down the streets towards the Red Keep. Saarkiin would soon have needs to demonstrate himself to the world in order to establish dominance and preparations needed to be made. He had sent his heralds ahead to announce his coming to the keep and the royal family was gathered in the courtyard awaiting his arrival. King Joffery and the rest of his family knelt before their overlord as soon as he was in their sight. He dismissed the vassals and family members that accompanied Joffery and commanded the boy-king to walk with him. Together the dark lord and the fidgeting king walked to the top of the high walls that oversaw the city where the two could talk alone.

"My subordinates have informed me that you have been behaving yourself." Saarkiin said in his characteristically solemn tone.

"Y-yes your Grace…" Joffery replied anxiously. The night Saarkiin had taken the city he had also taken Sansa Stark into his custody. She had very passionately reported to Saarkiin the sadistic and violent nature of the boy-king and his abusive treatment towards her and others. Therefore the dark lord had Joffery dragged to the Sept of the Stranger where he was forced to testify and had received nightmarish visions from the Skull of Corruption as his punishment. Afterward Saarkiin lectured the dazed boy on the proper merits of kingcraft and leadership.

The punishment, lecture, and the overwhelming presence of the overlord had an intense sobering effect on the boy and there had been a dramatic shift in his personality. Every day Joffery wore his king's armor and sword, trained his mind and body in leadership and combat, and studied under Saarkiin in the art of kingship. The boy now strove to embody his teachings.

****"******__**A King is Graceful, Proud, Forceful, and Fair. His legs are the strength of his people, his arms are their hope, his mind is their prosperity, and his voice is their justice."**__** This was the motto that Saarkiin had beaten into Joffery's heart. The two kings stood together on the ramparts and discussed the matters of the city and its people in the coming days of war. Afterward Joffery asked Saarkiin about Sansa.

"Does she still hate me so…" asked the dreary boy.

Despite the incidents of the prior months Joffery and Sansa were still set to be wed. Sansa still loath the boy but after many counseling sessions with Serana she had learned to tolerate this new Joffery and the wedding would continue as planned. Saarkiin felt that joining the North and the South through marriage could still prove to be beneficial in the future.

"Forget it, boy. Whats done is done and the past shall be buried with time. Remain mindful of the present. It is time we made peace with the North. Soon you and the Stark sisters will accompany me aboard the __Dreamweaver__ and set course to the North. We will parlay with Rob Stark and sue for peace before we deal with the stag-king brothers to the south." With this statement Joffery began to form a fearful look on his face. "Fear not child. I am not taking you as a sacrificial offering to appease the Starks. I merely wish for you to learn the art of political negotiations."

When Saarkiin finished speaking a raven appeared in the sky and landed on his shoulder. However it did not carry a paper message as most ravens did. Saarkiin was fluent in beast-tongue he had learned from the wood elves of Valenwood. The raven whispered silent words into the ethereal ear of the dark lord and took flight on dark wings.

"What is it, your grace?'

"Your grandfather moves to do battle with the Stark army. They shall clash before night falls. Things are moving more quickly than anticipated. We leave tonight. Go now and make your final preparations." And with that Joffery departed leaving Saarkiin alone on the high walls. He needed to depart soon as well or he would miss the eve of battle. He would've preferred to settle the matter peacefully with Tywin Lannister, but Joffrey and Cersei had informed him of the mannerisms and personality of the western Warden. Saarkiin had dealt with men of his ilk and age before as he thought of General Tullius of the Empire all those years ago. Saarkiin knew that even in the literal face of death the old Lannister would not yield.

Reminiscing in the past once again had caused Saarkiin to feel an empty longing. Though he had Serana and the others at Castle Volkihar he still felt alone in this new world. He was currently an undead, but deep in his ethereal heart he was still a dragon. Saarkiin desired to see his kin one last time. However, according to the scholars of this world, dragons had died out long ago and Saarkiin's Thu'um was at the moment too weak to resurrect the dragon bones buried beneath the Red Keep.

Saarkiin was pulled from his inner thoughts as he noticed a crowd forming in the streets below. They were pointing upward towards the sky and he followed their line of sight. In the distant sky above Saarkiin could see a blood-red comet forming. That was the moment when a wave of heat washed over the cold, dead body of the dark lord.

As dovahkiin Sahrotalok-Dilon was the last born of Akatosh, the father of all dragons. As his last "living" heir Saarkiin too held the title of the Father of Dragons. At the sight of the bleeding star he felt deep in his soul the birth and beating hearts of three dragon hatch-lings somewhere in this vast world.

With the sound of the dragonlings hearts beating in his ear he could feel a warm and tender soul nurturing the newborns. It was the soul of dragon made mortal. It was a Dragonborn! Though his Thu'um was weakened before he could now feel the strength returning to his ethereal throat and he could no longer contain his excitement. Here and now he would let his mysterious sibling know that they were not alone. He took a deep breath into his empty ribcage and felt the power forming in his spine at the base of his skull. Then Saarkiin let it go, the power of his Voice shaking the very foundations of the city and scattering the crowd below:

**_**"DO-VAH-KIIN!"**_**

**_**Part II**_**

"What do those southern lords know of me and mine!" called out a beast of a man many knew as the Greatjon Umber. "The wolves knelt to the dragons. Now the dragons are dead. So there sits the only king I plan to bend the knee too! The King in the North!"

Greatjon began to chant "King in the North" over and over. Their voices echoed out into the night covered forest around them. Soon the other lords of the North, wholeheartedly proud of Rob's victory over the Lannisters, began to chant the title as well. Rob's heart, though heavy with responsibility to his people, began to swell with pride and confidence. If only his father could see him now. Deep down Rob entertained the idea that Ned could see him from beyond the grave and was proud of his achievements. The lords of the North continued their chant.

"The King in the North!"

"The King in the North!"

"The King in the North!"

_**_**"The King in the North?" **_**_Called out a dark, solemn, yet familiar voice that echoed throughout the surrounding forest. The northern lords and their new liege became silent and drew their swords instinctively. They all turned to the source of the voice to see a man in a dark, hooded cloak with equally dark eyes and hair. At the sight of the man Rob Stark sheathed his blade and called out:

"Master Black Oak!"

"It is I…" replied Saarkiin. Rob approached him and the dark man held out his hand to take his. Instead Rob threw his arms around his old master-at-arms and embraced him warmly.

"You're cold master. Please come closer to the fire." Said Rob leading Saarkiin towards the bonfire nearby. The lords of the North had settled by now and received the newcomer.

"The King in the North, eh? I rather enjoy the sound of it. Kingship tends to follow victory. I am proud to hear that you won your first battle."

"I owe it all to your training master." Replied Rob

"You could've seized the day, or rather night, even without my guidance."

"You give me too much credit master. So after all this time what brings you here? Surely you didn't come just to congratulate me? Also there are these rumors circulating about you. Some say you are more a specter than a man. Do they have merit?" asked Rob with a forced chuckle, his brow furrowing as he and the other wary lords watched Saarkiin step towards the bonfire with his arms crossed behind his back. Saarkiin was silent for a while until Rob called out to him once more. Then the mysterious man began to shimmer in darkness as he turned towards his former student. Yet it was not his master's face anymore.

A skull with two pale lights resting in the darkness of the sockets turned around and seized Rob and his lords in its icy glare. They were all frozen in fear, unable to move or flee. Saarkiin held out his arms and began to speak to his captivated audience.

"The rumors you hear are true. I have indeed seized King's Landing and I now rule the city as Overlord. Kneel before me and I shall rule the northern realms as supreme overlord as well. You are strong, Rob Stark, yet you and your men now gaze into the abyss. Serve me as King in the North and you will know well the power needed to rule as such, or balk and you will know utter despair."

"..."

"You need not answer right away, my son. First a gift." And with that Saarkiin raised his bony hand and from out of the shadows of the forest Arya and Sansa emerged. They ran towards Rob and the three children of Ned Stark warningly embraced. After the warm reunion another figure stepped out from the darkness of the night.

It was Joffery holding a crate in his arms. Rob, stunned at the sight of his sworn enemy, drew his swords once again despite weak protest from Sansa. Saarkiin held up his hand to stop Rob from attacking and silencing the rambling lords behind him. Joffery strode forward and knelt before Rob Stark, setting the crate at his feet and opening it.

"I, Joffery Baratheon, return the remains of the man I wrongfully put to death. I, on behalf of House Baratheon and House Lannister, humbly beg for the forgiveness of the North." Joffery rose from behind the crate and faced Rob eye to eye. In an instant Rob struck Joffrey across the face with a clenched fist. Joffrey hit the cold ground hard. He sat up and looked towards Saarkiin holding his swollen cheek.

"Your Grace!?" he called out.

"Be silent, boy. You deserved it. Reap the seeds you have sown." Replied Saarkiin coldly. "Leave us and have the Dusk Legionaries escort you pack to the ship. It is clear that you are unwanted here." With the order received the boy-king quickly shot up and left the area. Some of the red-faced lords got up to pursue him but Rob ordered them to let Joffrey go.

"I don't know what you are, but I cannot forget everything you've done for my family these past years. You look like a monster, but I cannot help but trust you. Do not make me regret this..." Said Rob as he stepped forward and planted his sword in the ground before Saarkiin and bent his knee. The shaken lords behind him emulated their king. "I hereby offer my allegiance to you, Lord Saarkiin. From now until the end of my days. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

Sansa, Arya, and the rest of the lords repeated Rob's words. Saarkiin gestured the group to rise. He stepped closer to Rob and opened his hand revealing a silver ring with a wolves head.

"Now my King in the North, take this as a symbol of House Stark's divine right to rule the North as king, and you will know strength beyond mortal measure…"

**_**Part III**_**

The early morning fog began to clear across the would-be battlefield. Saarkiin, now in his legendary Ebony Mail with the hood pulled up over his skull, stood next to Rob at the head of the Northern army. The Lannister army was quickly approaching from the southwest, eager to avenge their previous loss. Rob had originally devised a plan to sacrifice a portion of his military in order to feign a loss and use his remaining forces to capture Jamie Lannister and his commanders. However Saarkiin denied Rob as he planned to demonstrate himself and put an end to Lannister resistance right here and now.

Saarkiin waved his right hand signaling Rob and his forces to fall back to a safe distance. The Northern army complied without hesitation and returned to the safety to the nearby forest. To the rapidly approaching army it would've seemed as if they were retreating while leaving one solitary man behind. Soon Saarkiin was alone on the battlefield as the army of red and black armored men on horseback raced towards their doom.

The dark lord had thought long and hard on how he would deal with the Lannisters and decided that he alone would test the limits of his power in this new world without the aid of his army of darkness. Soon the cavalry charge would be upon him so he pulled out two black soul gems and held one in each hand as he took a stance of power. Within ten seconds the first wave of soldiers would run him down. Now was his chance.

****"[Firestorm]"****

The master tier destruction spell gushed out violent flames in all directions. Dozens of scorched men and equine were launched twenty feet into the air away from the caster radius. The red and black army balked away and retreated several yards away, though they did not flee entirely. They must've believed that the explosion had been a one-time fluke. They prepared themselves for a second charge. Saarkiin thought about what spell to use next. [Firestorm] had consumed two black soul gems without touching Saarkiin's diminishing pool of magicka.

[Lightingstorm] would surely wipe out the approaching forces but would consume many more soul gems than he was currently carrying and he wished to save his magicka for another day. He look up towards the sky and saw the familiar red comet and in that moment he knew what to do. Ever since the comet had appeared and Saarkiin could feel the presence of dragons once more the power of his Voice had returned to him in full. Now was the best time to test it.

_**_**"Rise, Durnehviir!"**_**_ Saarkiin called out in his terrible Voice of Power.

The ground next to the dark lord erupted and split open. From the earth below a dragon's skeleton arose. It let out a gruesome roar as slimy green flesh began to grow across the yellowed bones of the undead dragon. When its horrifying transformation was complete it crouched next to Saarkiin and said:

"It has been too long since you have called me to the realm of the living, Ideal Master."

"Welcome to the new world, my old rotting friend." Replied Saarkiin who was climbing onto the back of the undead dragon.

"Crosis. How may I serve you, Dovahkiin?"

"Teach them…" Saarkiin said as he pointed towards the reeling army.

"As you command!" roared Durnehviir. The great, green, undead dragon lurched into the air. It spread its grossly torn wings and took flight. By now the Lannister army had frozen beyond belief, though now they began to run for their very lives. The dragon of death pursued the fleeing army, casting Soul Tear, summoning wraithmen and dragonshades from the Soul Cairin, and breathing icy death on any solider that was too slow to flee. It was an absolute slaughter. Men were torn to shreds by dragonshades and undead, frozen alive as icy statues, or turned into undead themselves.

Saarkiin ordered Durnehviir to cut off a division of the Lannister army that did not participate in the initial battle that was also attempting to flee. The undead dragon dropped out of the sky and cut off the only path that promised escape and salvation. Saarkiin jumped down from the back of the dragon and faced the fearful regimen. At the head of the men on horseback was a familiar face, Jamie Lannister. He was not frightened nor was he confused. The specter that stood before Jamie was the very entity that had haunted his nightmares for a while now.

Jamie hopped down from his horse, drew his longsword, and faced the object of his phobia. Saarkiin in turn drew the legendary black katana, Nox Mortem, and faced the blonde warrior.

"I warned you to know your place, boy…"

"Father always said I never learn."

**_**Part IV**_**

The cold northern winds brushed past Jamie's hair as he stood before the specter of death. Ever since that night at Winterfell when Jamie had bore witness to the darkest of truths a terrible fear gnawed away at his soul. Gods existed, but there was only one, and his name was Death. Jamie had spent many sleepless nights trying to reconcile this fact. For so long he had been able to dash away any who stood before him with a sword. No enemy on the battlefield had been too great for him to overcome. Now, he felt as if his hand had been cut off. Impotently he squeezed the hilt of his sword. He felt nothing but the cold.

The dark, imposing figure of darkness and bone drew a strange, curved sword as black as its armor. It stopped before the terrified, but confidant Lannister and appraised him from head to toe. However Jamie could not read the featureless face that was its skull and his greatest ability to read his opponents was lost on this otherworldly foe. __I knew I would have to cross blades with Death one of these days, but this is a bit too literal!__

"You amuse me, Lannister. Many have stood where you now stand and have been crushed beneath the weight of only my gaze. You flew in fear after our first encounter. However you stand bravely before the ruler of death. Should I commend your courage or reproach your madness?" asked the dark lord standing before Jamie.

"A little of both, I'd have to say." Said Jamie, doing his best to ignore the undead dragon decimating his father's army in the distance. "If someone had told me it would all end this way I could have called them barking mad, yet here we are. It's at times like this I'm reminded of a Bravosii saying: 'There is only one god, and that is the god of death. And what is it we say to the god of death?'"

The dark lord did not budge or make to reply. With that Jamie answered his own rhetorical question;

"Not today!" he cried as he charged the creature in black armor. He made to drive his sword right through the bare skull underneath its hood. However the hooded figure once again disintegrated into smoke and shadow as it had done before. Jamie's men, who had stayed fast at the sight of their dear leader's courage now became visibly terrified. "Hold your ground!"

"As I said before…" echoed the solemn voice of the undead king. "You are strong, boy. But I…I am beyond strength. I am the Beginning and the End. I rule over monsters and the dead. Life and death are mere playthings from where I stand. Grip your sword, pray for salvation, run for your life. It matters not. My armies will rise from their graves, they will march over this land, and I shall once again rule as a god among mortal men…"

"And I'm Lan the Trickster, come to swindle your land and riches." Retorted Jamie, thinking back to the old Lannister myths from his childhood. A cold, chilling laughter echoed in his head and pure dread began to wash over the faces of Jamie's men.

"Amusing…"

Jamie felt the wind change direction and turned to face his men in hope to encourage them to continue fighting at his side. What he saw instead was absolute horror. In an instant the heads had been swiftly removed from each and every solider aside from himself. They all now littered the ground with their decapitated corpses. Even Jamie's steel sword fell into two pieces, blade and hilt falling separately from his now shaking hands. A cold hand gripped him by his right shoulder. He turned to face his mortal enemy, but nothing was there.

Jamie turned back and forth searching for the dark specter that had confronted him. The cold laughter continued and with it Jamie's fear began to transform into rage.

"Show yourself! Monster!" he cried out. The shadowy figure than began to materialize before him once again.

"As you wish, Kingslayer…" said the dark lord. Of course even the god of death would have known about Jamie's bloody past. "You tense at that name, Kingslayer?"

"I've gotten used to it…" replied Jamie sullenly. "Maybe if you stayed still for once and stopped poofing away I'd slay the king of the dead as well."

"You don't say? You do amuse me, Kingslayer. Then I'll humor you. However you will need a weapon that can withstand me. A weapon fit for a man who can slay those he swore to protect."

"What did you say?" asked Jamie as he furrowed his brow. As he spoke the dark lord Saarkiin held out his hands and shadows produced a long, black, and strangely curved sword of intricate design and make. It was very similar to the weapon at Saarkiin's side, but much longer.

"Behold the Ebony Blade." Said Saarkiin presenting the weapon. "This bloodthirsty blade has taken the lives of many kings. Empowered by the will of treachery it belongs in the capable hands of the deceitful. Take it, Lan the Trickster. Power is yours to taste. You need only reach out and take it."

"That is a very nice sword, but what's the catch?" asked Jamie mockingly. "There's always a catch in fairy tales."

"The catch is you walk away from this battlefield. __Alive.__"

In that moment the undead dragon flew overhead, startling Jamie. Without anymore hesitation he reached out and grasped the hilt to the Ebony Blade. As he did a searing pain shot up his arm, but he could not let the weapon go. Through the sword he could feel deep, empty coldness echo through his own body. In his mind he could hear the faint voice of a woman. __**The blood of betrayal stains your soul.**__

"Do you hear her voice? Does the dark maiden call out to you?" asked Saarkiin intently.

"Y-yes. I hear a voice. So cold…" he said, trembling.

"Excellent. You shall make for a wonderful test subject. Let us begin." Said Saarkiin, drawing his black sword once again. He rushed swinging his blade with inhuman might. Yet, somehow, Jamie was fast enough to just barely block the strike. It was as if the Ebony Blade moved with a will of its own. Saarkiin struck again and again while Jamie blocked each attack.

Though Jamie was able to counter each strike he could not counter-strike the swift skeleton's black blade. However with each successful block Jamie could feel the vitality of his body returning from the fatigue of battle. It felt good.

"Yes, Kingslayer. Feel the power. The Ebony Blade will drain the life-force of your foe and add it onto your own even if you only lock blades. Were I mortal you would have the upper hand in this battle."

Jamie continued to defend, yet he was now laughing. He felt…powerful. With a weapon like this he would no longer have to live under the shadow of his father. He could finally forge a world where he, Cersei, and Tyrion could all live together in peace. He felt amazing.

In his splendor he took an opportunity to strike out on his own. He lunged past Saarkiin's blade and spun around to take off the overlord's head. But before the attack could connect he heard the skeleton utter a single strange word.

_**_**"Fus!"**_**_ And with that Jamie was sent flying into a tree, knocked unconscious.


	6. The Call of the Dragonborn

**_**The Call of the Dragonborn**_**

Tywin Lannister, a grizzled old man in red and black armor, knelt before the blacken figure that sat atop a makeshift throne that had been placed in the fields between Lannisport and Riverrun. He was not knelling intentionally or willingly. His army had been decimated by an unknown force and this unknown king had sent his very own son to drag him off his warhorse and throw him before this mysterious, dark king of foreign nature.

On the right side of the man in black was his most recent sworn enemy, Rob Stark and his direwolf. To the left of that dark king was his own once beloved son, Jamie Lannister. Rage grew across his face the longer he glared at his traitorous son. A couple of northern troops appeared behind Tywin dragging a stunted man with the same blonde hair as Tywin, Cersei, and Jamie. He too was thrown before the visage of the king in black.

"Ah, Tyrion. I thought you would've died in battle alongside your hill tribesman. I'm glad to see you make it through in one piece." Said Jamie.

"I, too, am glad to see you alive brother. Though it seems you've found yourself on the wrong side. Can't say I blame you, of course. I would've done the same to survive."

"Shut it, both of you! I won't have my final moments stained by the traitorous words of my bastard children. I disown both of you with my last breath!" cried Tywin, spitting on the ground. Together Jamie and Tyrion rolled their eyes at their father and chuckled at one another, given the perilous situation. Tywin's face became beet red. A hand wrapped in a black gauntlet raised and all noise immediately ceased. The dark lord, his face shrouded in darkness by the hood of his dark armor, spoke.

"Tywin Lannister. Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. You have been beaten and bested in battle, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting. Swear your loyalty to me and your may yet be spared and allowed to retire in your old age. What say you?" he said.

"And who are you?" the proud lord said, "That I must bow so low." With that statement the dark lord and master known as Saarkiin rose from his makeshift throne and Tywin could finally see beneath that hood. Surprise, but not fear, appeared in the old Lannister's eyes.

The king in black held out his arms and said: "I am Sahrotalok-Dilon, the ruler of Death and Father to Dragons. It is I that has declared myself Overlord of this continent. That is who I am."

"Take off that ridiculous mask and talk to me face to face like a man." Growled Tywin from his place in the dirt. Even in defeat Tywin Lannister remained a proud and forceful lord. Saarkiin was impressed by the still simmering pride in Tywin's soul and was reminded of General Tullius, as he knew he would be.

"Lannister's are truly proud of their folly. You and your family continue to amuse me. However I grow weary of this region and wish to return to the capitol. By your defiant tone I take that you will not prostrate yourself before me. Very well… Jamie, bring me his head." Said Saarkiin, drawing back his hood to reveal that his face was not and could not be a mask. Tywin's eyes widen with sudden realization. He looked to his son that stood next to the dark figure and saw that he was drawing a long black sword without hesitation. He walked over to the right side of Tywin and placed the strange black blade across the back of his neck. Tywin lowered his head as he accepted his fate.

"Wait! Wait!" pleaded Tyrion. "We get it! You're absolutely terrifying. We are in awe of your terrible might. We get it! Let us go and we will never rebel against you. How could we?"

"Be silent, Tyrion, and die with honor." Whispered Tywin to his disowned son.

"I can't even fathom __what__ you are, let alone plan any kind of rebellion against someone that can defeat a fully furnished military __by himself!" __He continued. "We are but defenseless mice compared to you. How could we ever harm you? Please…."

"Even the smallest of vermin can chew away at the foundations of the greatest of halls, given enough time... Jamie?" said the solemn voice. With that single statement Jamie raised his black blade and swung, his face devoid of a single look of remorse. Tywin's head rolled while Jamie gripped his sword tightly and his face contorted in ecstasy. The act of slaying his own father with the Ebony Blade filled Jamie with a powerful sensation, Saarkiin noted. "Yes, my newest soldier… Let the power flow through the blade and into your soul."

"Thank you, Master." He replied as he moved closer to a terrified Tyrion. Jamie raised his sword once again, eager to fill the black blade with the blood of betrayal once again.

"Halt, Jamie. It is not yet his time." Said Saarkiin, but his command fell on deaf ears as Jamie's bloodlust gained the better of him. Tyrion cowered before the swinging blade, but before the blade could make contact with his exposed neck another blade clashed with it and blocked the strike.

"His Majesty said to halt, _Lannister._" Grumbled Rob who had locked blades with Jamie with inhuman speed. Jamie stepped backwards and squared his shoulders in preparation to duel with Rob, who had robbed him of his prey. The blood-lust was still apparent in his eyes and Rob squared his shoulders as well, gripping his sword and baring his teeth like a beast. In his grip was a dragonbone blade given to him by Saarkiin and the silver ring gleamed on his index finger. The hair on the back of his direwolf, Greywind, rose and the beast bared his teeth as well.

_**_**"Children!" **_**_shouted Saarkiin, his voice echoing like thunder. Both Rob and Jamie dropped their arms to their sides and stood at attention. "…Return to your positions."

"Yes, your Majesty." They said in unison and returned to Saarkiin's sides. Once they were back into position Saarkiin looked down on the still shaking Tyrion.

"Rise…" he said gesturing to Tyrion to get on his feet. Tyrion quickly stood up and tried his best to quell his shaking. Then Saarkiin said: "My wife, Serana, complimented you during our stay at Winterfell. For her sake I shall let you live."

"T-that was __your__ wife?!" exclaimed Tyrion, swallowing a lump in his throat while trying to forget that night at Winterfell, lest this undead be able to read minds. He had been fixated by Serana's beauty followed her around all night making comments and hatching perverse thoughts.

"Indeed." He said. "Perhaps she would like to keep you as a pet. But, alas, I have better plans for you. You seem like a smart and diligent man who happens to be the eldest living heir in your family. Very well then. You are now Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West."

A mixed array of confused emotions crossed Tyrion's face. He wanted to run away in fear and simultaneously jump for joy. Instead he simple knelt before Saarkiin and said: "I swear to serve you loyaly, by the old gods and the new."

"I am the only god you need swear upon. Come, walk with me…" Saarkiin rose from his makeshift throne and clasped his hands behind his back and began to stride across the plains with Tyrion, Jamie, and Rob following closely. The group made their way to a nearby prisoner encampment constructed for the survivors of Saarkiin's onslaught.

Inside the encampment was the few dozen remaining Lannister soldiers that survived Durnehvirr's onslaught. The men there were all wounded and frozen in terror as they watched the dark lord approach. Saarkiin turned towards Tyrion and said:

"These are your men, Tyrion. Instill within their hearts and souls the importance of continued loyalty to their overlord."

"What if they don't want to be loyal?" asked Tyrion timidly.

"Then they will be harvested by Jamie and the Ebony Blade. That was their original fate. However I feel it more fit to put them under you. You and these men know far too well what it means to stand against me. Jamie, remain with your brother for the time being. See that he is comfortable." And with that Saarkiin left Tyrion to converse with his men and arrange his newly acquired affairs while under the watchful eye of his brother Jamie.

Saarkiin noted to himself that bestowing the Ebony Blade on Jamie had been a risky, but fruitful endeavor. After Jamie had recovered from the battle Saarkiin had him test the blade by convincing him to willfully execute several survivors. With each kill done in the cold passion of betrayal the power of the Daedric artifact increased exponentially. Each kill seemed to have an intoxicating and addictive effect on Jamie's mind and body. Saarkiin mused that he would one day have to remove the weapon from his possession and dispose of him.

Saarkiin, followed by Rob, made his way towards the forest that lay on the outskirts of the plains where Rob's army awaited. Inside the forest they moved towards a large tent where several northern lords loyal to the King in the North waited for their king. The two kings entered and everyone present bowed before them.

The dark lord gestured for the men to rise and took a seat at the head of a long table that held a map of Westeros. As he sat down Theon Greyjoy rushed through the entrance of the tent and dropped to one knee before Saarkiin. He wore a yellow outfit similar to the cultist outfits worn by Saarkiin and his men when they had visited the Iron Isles. Now it has become a customary fashion amongst the ironborn.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty. A raven has come from the Greyjoy fleet with grave news from the south." He said quickly.

"Speak, ironborn."

"The rumors of a massive army to the South are true, Your Grace. 'Stannis and Renly Baratheon have negotiated to join forces until the foreign king that wrongfully occupies King's Landing is dealt with. They sail to the capital as I write this message.'" Reported Theon, reading from a scrap of paper.

"Thank you, Theon, for informing me so quickly. Your service is well noted. You will make and excellent Lord of the Iron Islands one day. Now go and randevu with the ironborn fleet. Have Yara Greyjoy position the fleet in the area outside of the Blackwater Bay. Have her remain hidden under the horizon and allow the enemy fleet to sail into the bay unabated. The Iron Fleet will abstain from battle this time. I don't want them getting caught up in what I have in store." Said Saarkiin. He then turned his attention towards Rob who now sat on the opposite end of the table. Saarkiin asked him what he knew about the stag brothers. Rob replied that he didn't know much and that he had never met the two.

"An unknown enemy then. It is too late to open negotiations. I have demonstrated myself enough. However it is time that the world knows the strength of my armies." Saarkiin said grimly as he rose from his seat. "Prepare the northern army, King in the North. We ride for King's Landing as soon as able."

"As you command!" said everyone present inside the tent in unison, striking their right fist into their chest in salute.

**_**Part II**_**

Saarkiin, atop his black warhorse Shadowmere, made his way down the King's Road that lead towards King's Landing. He was followed by Rob, Jamie, Tyrion, and the rest of the northern army. They had been riding extremely hard for several days and every mortal present was physically exhausted. However Saarkiin was undead and he could not be fatigued, nor could his steed of darkness tire either. So Saarkiin relented the pace despite the fact that they were still a day and a half ride away from King's Landing and the Baratheon fleet would besiege the city by nightfall.

Tyrion rode at the dark king's side and the two spoke about a great many things since the hard galloping had ceased. Curious, Saarkiin had asked to hear the life story of the stunted man and found himself taking pity on Tyrion. Life as a dwarf in this world had been a harsh one save for the fact that he was born into a powerful noble family. That reason alone was the only saving grace, Tyrion recalled, that had led to his continued survival.

"In my old kingdom of Skyrim I was forced to put particular ordinances over the populace to stop the discrimination against those of my society that had been retarded by nature. Before then they were left to die alone in the forest, as they are here. I did not care for them or their fates, such is the cruelty of life. But death is even crueler. Their souls would often return as vengeful shades and their bodies would rise as cold, hateful draugr. You see, the dead must be cared for as much as the living, and the undead must be heavily regulated or they will destroy your peaceful depictions of nature and society."

"I see… I can't say I would be particularly delighted to have been born in your society. Though it seems I no longer have a choice in the matter." said Tyrion, all too wary of the power of the undead. "May I ask what the plan of action is for when we reach King's Landing?"

"In due time, Tyrion." Replied Saarkiin solemnly.

"Hey Tyrion, ask him about his army of the dead. He loves talking about his army of the dead." Jested Jamie from behind his brother.

"Be silent Kingslayer, or you may find yourself joining them…"

"Forgive me, your Majesty." He said, bowing his head. Saarkiin gestured Rob and Jamie to move their horses forward to trot in unison with Shadowmere. Then he addressed their concerns.

"Fear not my kings and wardens. The city shall be accosted by the enemy, but three hundred of my Legion of Dusk protect the city. They each have the strength of ten men and will not be defeated so easily. The city is also guarded by my beloved Serana. My queen's power rivals my own, to an extent. She is truly a force to be reckoned with. Not to mention the surprises within the Blackwater Bay that await the Baratheon fleet…"

"Even still your Majesty. Their forces are extremely great, numbering close to five-hundred thousand men if we consider the combined forces of Renly and Stannis. If your legionnaires have the strength of ten men that only equals three-thousand. What happens if they break through to the city?" questioned Tyrion.

"Then thousands of innocents will die. The Red Keep will fall and the city will burn. How unfortunate…" Said the dark lord without a hint of remorse. Tyrion shuddered at the cold air emanating from the skeletal king. He turned to look to his brother Jamie, but he too had a cold look in his eyes. Did he no longer care for Cersei and her children? This dark king had truly corrupted his brother's mind. The power granted by that black sword of his was the only thing he lusted for now.

"You are bothering his Majesty with so many questions, Lannister. I suggest you hold your tongue." Said Rob, glaring at Tyrion.

"Pay it no mind, Rob. I do not mind. His fears and doubts are sound and well placed. I believe that you are an intelligent man, Tyrion. I shall value your advice and questions. But do not undermined my authority." Replied Saarkiin, directing the last statement towards all three men. "Now enough about the upcoming conflict. Tyrion, tell me everything you know about Targaryens…"

**_**Part III**_**

Daenerys Targaryen, a young girl with silver hair covered in dust and red clay, stared out into the great blue sky that stretched over the vast desert known as the Red Waste.

**__**"DO-VAH-KIIN!**__******"**** an ethereal voice had called out to her several days ago. She did not know what the words meant, but the very sound of the words rocked her to her very soul.

Dany had been through much in these past years after she had been smuggled away from her birthplace of Dragonstone. She had been sold like a slave to the Dothraki and the Khal of the Great Grass Sea, a man named Khal Drogo, who bred her like a brood mare. Despite his fierce nature she had grown attached the man. She bore his child and her destiny had been to give birth to the "Stallion that will mount the world." A Dothraki legend that would have her son become the ruler of a great and terrible empire. However the demons of fate would have other plans. A series of unfortunate events involving war and blood magic had led to the death of her husband and unborn child and the scattering of her tribes-people.

Yet not all hope had not been lost. During the funeral pyre for her late husband she had given herself and three dragon eggs to the inferno. By morning she had arisen reborn from the ashes with three baby dragons nuzzling her teat. That very morning she had heard the call from afar, like a fatherly voice calling out to his lost child. Jorah had immediately shot up from his place before the pyre and without a single word to Dany he jumped on the back of his horse and rode off in a mad haste. She had feared that her adviser would never return.

…

Upon hearing the sound of that ominous call Jorah Mormont felt the once lost memories of days past come flooding back to him. That was the voice of the man that the denizens of Bear Island had made fairy tales about. The black king of the forest they called him. But at the sound of that distant voice the memories of that night and the subsequent morning returned to his weary mind. The memories of the Dark Lord that had taken Jorah from his hunting trip and drug him into his great and terrible halls for interrogation.

After his encounter with the dead of the woods Jorah had the desire to take part in the slave trade. His former wife that been badgering him about their finances for a while, anyway. So on several occasions Jorah had taken poachers into his custody and dragged them deep into the forest to meet their terrible fate. Afterward Jorah would have no recollection of the event other than the moment he captured the men. The reason for his exile was when Ned Stark found out about his nightly activities. Now Jorah knew it was that dark thing that was responsible for his sin.

He rode off with haste to meet with his informant in Astapor as quickly as possible. Upon arrival in the city he took what little gold he had and sent out a message to meet with Varys the Spider's spies. Before too long a child approached him and relayed the state that King's Landing and the Seven Kingdoms were in. It was exactly as he feared. The Dark Lord had crept from his dark castle in the forest and had spread his evil across the land. Everything had changed. He could never return to Westeros, and Daenerys and her dragons could not be allowed to fall into the hands of that…thing.

…..

After another several days of wandering the Red Waste with her few, but loyal Dothraki, Daenerys finally saw her old knight in the distance returning to her. When he dropped down from his horse Dany bombarded Jorah with a slew of questions. Finally Jorah said:

"We can never return to Westeros, no matter how large of an army we have, and no matter how big you dragons become. Only death await us in the Seven Kingdoms…"

"What are you talking about? We have to go back. The Iron Throne is mine by right. We must take it back for the people."

"You don't understand, Daenerys. The physical embodiment of Death Itself looms over the Iron Throne. We must flee eastward with due haste. We must never stop.

"Why are you so frightened of a single man? When my dragons are full grown there isn't a force alive that can stand against them."

"Exactly. There isn't any force __alive__ that could stand against three full grown dragons. But it is not the living that I fear. Remember that even dragons can die, Dany."

"Why won't you tell me what it is we're running from?" said Daenerys, putting her hands on her hips.

"I __did. __I did not exaggerate. The __actual__ god of death is terrorizing the lands across Westeros. We have to run, now!" pleaded Jorah.

"Very well… We'll continue our trek towards Quarth. But I will not run away. The Iron Throne is mine. It is my destiny, my birth right. I will not abandon my people to be terrorized by…whatever it is that you say is threatening them. When I have my armies and my dragons then nothing will be able to stop me. Do not doubt me again!" Scolded Daenerys.

She turned and began to walk back towards the rest of the small Dothraki encampment. However she stopped when she noticed that her three baby dragons, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Veserion, did not follow her. Ever since she had stopped nursing them they had developed the habit of staring off towards the west, where the call had come from. Now they stood frozen, staring westwards into the distance. Dany called out to them while slapping her thigh to get their attention. The black baby dragon she had named Drogon turned to Daenerys and opened its mouth and said in a tiny voice:

"__Dovahkiin?"__

**_**Part IV**_**

Jon Snow trudged across the white expanse of his namesake. He and several other men of the Nights Watch and a woman with bright red hair that had her hands bound in rope moved as quickly as possible towards the area known as the Fist of the First Men. The woman that was being dragged along by Jon was dressed in mismatched furs and was a wildling raider that had been captured by her sworn enemy.

Jon and his companions of the Nights Watch, the Half-Hand and others, had encountered scouts of the wilding army and had intercepted them before they could flee and alert the rest of the tribal army. They slew all but the red-headed girl and the other Nights Watchman ordered Jon to put the wildling girl down himself. Jon had retorted the command by explaining that they could question her further and it would be of value to bring her back to the rest of the Nights Watch ranger expedition.

He had meant for the excuse to be just that, an excuse. The amulet around his neck, a gift from his old master-at-arms, began to become warm and tighten. The words that came out of his mouth boomed with command and demanded respect. Jon's fellow watchman simply nodded their heads in agreement and the troop moved on. They began to pick up the pace and ran up the mountainside with gusto at the sound of three horn blast.

Ever since he put on the trinket Jon had felt the effects of its power. He didn't believe master Okeer for a second that this amulet, the Amulet of Talos, was actually a magic talisman. Especially not after the wild stories he told about drinking with demons. The young man found that he could, with the power of the item, convince anyone to do anything that seemed reasonable to them at least once a day. Also he could run all night in the snow and not tire or get any colder than if he was standing by the door at Craster's Keep.

The only one that knew about Jon's item was Sam. Jon had made plans to use it to fly up the ranks of the rangerhood, but his friend Sam had easily convinced Jon to use his gift honorably after Jon was made a steward. So Jon often saved his daily ability to usually save some new recruits from the "beginner's day beat down" against the order of Alister Thorne. Today he had used it to save this girl that he was towing along.

They were getting closer to the Nights Watch campsite as the sun began to drop below the horizon. Jon and the rest of the men in black furs were rigid with fear after they had heard the sound of three horn blast. Every member of the Night's watch new that one horn meant rangers returning and two was wildlings. Only a few knew three meant white walkers.

Jon had dealt with a white walker before. It had crept into Lord Commander Mormont's quarters when Jon had encountered it. He tried to use the ability of his amulet, but the dead thing had ignored the command and attacked. Thanks to the intervention of his direwolf, Ghost, and a torch lamp they had vanquished the undead. Afterward he volunteered for the expedition party to the Fist of the First men to scope out the situation.

Night had completely fallen now and a blizzard was moving in as the troop in black furs came around a rock formation near the campsite and witnessed utter despair. An army of some sorts had appeared and were viciously slaughtering the men of the Nights Watch. The other men with Jon drew their sword and dove straight into the conflict. Jon drew his own custom bastard sword, Longclaw, but hesitated as he remembered that he had a prisoner in tow. He turned to her and raised his sword high into the air and swung, cutting the rope that bound her hands.

"Run!" he yelled out. Without hesitation the red-headed woman took off down the mountain they had forced her to climb. When she was out of sight Jon turned to the battle and rushed in headlong. He frantically searched for Sam and Lord Commander Mormont as his Valyrian steel blade cleaved through the undead masses.

"Fall back! Fall back!" Jon could hear Commander Mormont cry out in the distance. Jon was on the wrong side of the army. His companions from earlier had already been torn apart by the relentless undead. The Nights Watch was moving back towards the forest in retreat as the wall of icy death pressed forward. Jon knew his only chance was to fall back as well and try to get around the white walkers and back to Craster's. That's what Mormont and the rest would most likely do.

It was too late. The dead had taken notice of Jon cutting into their forces and locked their sharp, blue eyes on him. He turned to run but realized that he was surrounded by death. Despite the amulet around his neck he could feel an overwhelming cold entering his body.

The dead began to close in. Jon held his ground and thrust his sword outward, attempting to ward off the approaching undead. One of the dead slashed out with his own weapon and struck him across the shoulder. Jon counterattacked and lost his balance, slipping to one knee. The legions of dead standing around the boy raised their weapons. Then a rumbling, booming voice echoed across the Fist of the First Men. It said:

"_**_**DO-VAH-KIIN!"**_**_

Jon looked to the sky and saw a bleeding star streaking across the night sky, its red color seeping through the black storm clouds. He rose from the snow and looked around at the undead army that surrounded him. Their sharp, blue eyes crumbled away and became pale, dead lights. The dead surrounding Jon all knelt down before him. In unison they proclaimed:

"__Dovahkiin…"__


	7. Blackwater

**_**Blackwater**_**

Serana sat on a crude, iron throne that consisted of twisted iron swords that had been forged together. The city had not been so quiet since her husband's departure. When Saarkiin had left the capitol all the little humans began to scramble to make their moves, reestablish their spy networks, and play their game of thrones. Serana quickly identified one obstructer after another, sending her vampyric servants covertly into the masses and seizing control of all civil dissenters and quelling disobedience.

Serana was dressed in a crimson and ebony dress with golden lace and trim with a shiny black, metallic corset and shoulder pads. Her raven black hair, longer than it had been one-hundred years ago, fell loosely over her back and shoulders and the Aethereal Crown rested upon her brow. Her husband had left it behind primed with a specific enchantment in case of emergency. On each of her hands she wore the two Rings of Blood Magic and around her neck was the Amulet of Gargoyles. In Serana's right hand she held the Daedric artifact, Sanguine's Rose.

Sanguine's Rose could summon a highly specialized Dremora Lord contained within the item and into this new world, but Serana held it as a scepter for its regal and aesthetic affects. Since coming to this world no other dremora or atronach could not be called forth unless they had already existed within Castle Volkihar or pocket dimensions within magical items. In the days after Saarkiin had set sail for the north Serana had found herself once again in the position to take up the task of the administrative work. She found that the easiest way to get the city of King's Landing under control was to deal with it the ways she had with the empire she ruled all those years ago.

Serana decided that she would sit on the throne and hear the pleas of the people. Often in the days of the past she would have to sit on the central throne and deal with the day to day activities of administrating imperial policies while Saarkiin waged war against a rebellion or another faction. Saarkiin may have been the face of their empire, but she had been its hands and feet.

Sitting beside Serana and the Iron Throne was Cersei Lannister, the queen regent of the city. She allowed the Lannister Queen to sit at the honorable place next to herself. Serana knew that she still lacked specific knowledge about this world and Cersei, who had been queen for more than a decade, had valuable insight to the people of this city and their culture. Cersei sat at attention and beamed a smile across the court at the nobles that piled in. She had come to see the Dark Queen as the image of perfection, so Cersei and the other noble women began to worship Serana as a goddess.

Standing to the left of the Iron Throne was a devious and devilish looking man in a black dress robe and a golden pin in the shape of a bird on his neck. That man was Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin that handled the finances of the Seven Kingdoms. This particular weasel, Serana noted, had been brazen enough to attempt spying on Serana whenever she would roam about the Red Keep alone. One day Serana used her shadow magic to surprise Baelish from behind. She had chased and hunted him all across the secret corridors and passageways of the keep until she had finally cornered him in the Black Cells.

Serana enthralled and fed upon the Master of Coin and made the cowardly man her puppet. To Serana's delight she learned that Petyr had the second largest spy network across the Seven Kingdoms and made plans to become very intimate with the knowledge in her new toy's head. He now stood at attention at her left side like a good mind-slave and acted as herald, introducing nobles and private citizens that came to pay tribute or ask upon the Dark Queen.

As the day marched on many different people filed before the court and offered their loyalties to the Dark Queen. Peoples from the Riverlands, the Vale, the Fingers, and so on prostrated themselves before Serana and allied their kingdoms with the greatest perceived threat in centuries. After several hours of courtly pleasantries a man with dark skin and foreign clothing came before the Dark Lady. According to Baelish this man was a representative of the Iron Bank of Braavos. The man insisted quite brazenly that Serana and her husband had inherited the debt of the previous crown and with interest it had become a substantial sum.

Serana looked towards Cercei who looked away in shame. The lump sum the man demanded the Iron Bank be paid was insubstantial compared to the coffers of Castle Volkihar, but to pay someone else debt so willingly would be a sign of weakness. Saarkiin would most likely have willed the man to die for his impudence and return his undead corpse to the sender, but Serana felt generous today. With a flick of her wrist and a point of her index finger she caste [Telekinesis] and the man rose into the air. He hung in front of Serana's face and she placed a finger under his chin, pulling him close.

"We owe the Iron Bank nothing. This is the dawn of a new era in Westeros and all slates will be wiped clean. If Braavos ever wants to do business then you can come back and pay your respects to me or my husband anytime you like. Is that okay with the Iron Bank?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The man frantically nodded his head and spoke rapidly in an unknown tongue. She then gently sat him back down and he dashed for the door. After a short rest Petyr Baelish called in the next group to hear from the Dark Queen.

"My Queen, I present to you Euron Greyjoy, captain of the Greyjoy fleet." Declared Petyr Baelish. A short, roguish looking man in a leather trencher walked in with his crew of men and step up to the throne, gulped deeply, and knelt. This man had been apparently hard to reel in at first, and Serana nearly made an example out of him right then and there. He and his men had refused to believe the outlandish stories told by the rest of the Iron Islanders; the tale of the Drowned God's return.

Euron refused the insane ramblings in the letter he received from his brother that stated that the Drowned God had come to the island. The letter detailed the situation and demanded Euron to return to his ancestral home and pay tribute to the god of his fathers. He and his men had come to the city instead, which they had learned that Ironborn ships were now permitted to come and go as they pleased, and stormed into the streets. They raided a brothel, killing guards and entrepreneurs and brutalizing the women there. They set up shop there at the brothel and proceeded to spread the chaos into the city. The establishment was owned by Petyr Baelish who promptly brought the situation of the raping and pillaging to Serana's attention.

Several Dusk Legionnaires had descended upon the Ironborn occupied brothel. The soldiers in black armor were far more powerful than any of Euron's men. Many were cut down before he and his remaining men were dragged here to the Red Keep kicking and screaming. They now knelt before the sight of a crimson queen with burning eyes.

"A brothel raid? __Really?__ I really don't have time for this. The city will be under siege soon and I'm having to deal with **__**this?**__** To hell with it! [Chain Lightning]." A bolt of lightning leap from the tip of Serana's finger and hit the men kneeling behind Euron. The bolt arced across the several men and all but Euron instantly died, their bodies disintegrating into ash. Euron fell to the ground, shaking. Many of the other humans had ducked for cover as well with the sound of thunder racing across the hall. Serana rose from the Iron Throne and said:

"Do you know why you are still alive, little man?" Euron just shook his head on the floor, barely looking up at the dark lady. "Because you're a Greyjoy and I can't be bothered to contact that greasy old man and ask if killing his brother would be inconvenient for him. While the rest of the Ironborn fleet is busy obeying the commands of my husband and doing their duty you're literally fucking around. Now be gone from my city or stay and fight, and thank every last star that I'm the one sitting on this throne right now. Go!"

Euron Greyjoy jumped up from his place among the ash and ran out of the hall. Lightly smiling, Serana returned to her seat on the throne. Petyr Baelish was holding his right hand on his chest, hyperventilating and pale. Cersei clapped rapidly, praising the prowess of the Dark Lady. The rest of the court followed suit, to Serana's annoyance.

"Now, on to the pressing matters." Said Serana, raising her hand and addressing the nobility that had gathered around the hall. They had learned earlier of the combined Baratheon fleet to the south and Serana had taken steps to reinforce the cities defenses. "Our forces are all in place to protect this city. Return to your homes and remain there for the duration of the night. I want no one in the streets no matter what happens."

With that command the nobles in King's Landing and the citizens were confined to their homes until the battle with the Baratheon army was over. Serana once again rose from the throne and bid Cersei and Petyr to follow her. The three left the throne room and walked to an area directly behind the wall that separated the beachhead of Blackwater Bay from the rest of the city.

There a group of blacksmith had been hard at work creating something commissioned by Serana after Cersei had loyally brought her information about the alchemist guild in the city. It was a gigantic iron cylinder set up at an angle and it appeared to be hollow. The commission had been completed rather quickly and to Serana's expectations.

It was called the Wildfire Mortar. A weapon Serana designed with the store of a volatile substance in mind. Wildfire would be poured into the base of a thick iron cylinder and ignited. The combustion would propel a secure cast iron sphere filled with the substance as a projectile. Serana modeled it after the reverse engineered dwarven weapons that protected the imperial city of her old empire, except they could use this synthetic fuel source instead of valuable soul gems. If it worked it would be useful as an anti-siege weapon.

"Is it ready for testing?" asked Serana to the smith and the alchemist in charge of the project.

"Yes, Your Grace." Said the smith.

"I worry about the constitution of the men who will man this weapon during battle. Can they maintain their composure enough to not spill a single drop of the substance? It could doom us all if the wildfire spreads!" exclaimed a frail old man that was the head alchemist.

Serana snapped her fingers and two vampire nightstalkers appeared in the blink of an eye, startling the smiths and alchemist present.

"You'll teach these two how the weapon works. They can keep calm and steady better than anyone in this city." The two men nodded in agreement and began to explain the weapons details to the nightstalkers. She could trust two high level vampires to maintain the weapon. They only need to use it long enough to keep the ships out of the bay until Serana could unleash the secret weapon that she had put inside of the bay.

**_**Part II**_**

Matthas Seaworth and his father, Davos, stood side by side on the deck of Stannis Baratheon's flag ship. Tensions were high and the shoulders of each man on deck was rigid. Soon this fleet, or perhaps more of an armada, would make its way towards the dark waters of Blackwater Bay.

There had been much bickering among Stannis and Renly when negotiations for bringing a truce between the two militaries had taken place. One of the main points that had been argued long after the truce was complete was who would be the one to take point on the assault of King's Landing. Eventually the red priestess of the red god had convinced Stannis to let Renly take point in the siege.

Matthas watch in anticipation as the first of the green and gold Highgarden ships entered the bay. Stannis and the red priestess had arrived from the interior and were standing at the head of the ship. They whispered back and forth and Matthas wondered what they could be discussing. It had been a controversial move to bring a woman like that alone for a battle, even if Stannis' forces end up sitting out most of it.

The Highgarden ships, with their golden roses decorating their hull, sailed into the bay. Then Matthas could hear a high-pitched whistling noise piercing through the air. Suddenly one of the ships at point erupted into a dark green flame. The remaining Highgarden ships attempted to turn about when another whistling sound pierced the clear night sky. Another ship erupted into emerald flames. And another. And another.

The remaining ships came about and fled past the still approaching ships loyal to Stannis Baratheon. Matthas could make out a distinct red light gleaming in Stannis eye, and his breath could be seen heavy out of his nose even though it was hot and humid around the bay area. The red priestess whispered another silent word into her king's ear and Stannis gave the command to remain stationary outside the bay.

"No one enters or leaves this bay." Said the Stag King with a Fiery Heart. And so the Baratheon fleet remained anchored outside the bay, blockading any ships from passing. Matthas looked around and whispered to his father after they had remained afloat in silence for nearly an hour.

"Why are we waiting here? Why don't we go ashore elsewhere and siege the city from the outside."

"King Stannis is waitin' for something. He has a particularly brighter fire in his eyes today, don't you say?" said Davos, squinting his eyes at the red priestess whispering into his king's ear. "I don't like that the red witch is here. You shouldn't bring a woman into battle, let alone a cursed one."

"Her presence brings the blessing of the Lord of Light. We will gain his favor for this battle. The Lord predicted that fire and warned Stannis through Lady Melisandre. Have faith father."

"I have only faith in what I know. That's how I've gotten so old, you know." Said Davos, fingering the bag that hung from around his neck. "I remember someone once said that the more powerful a weapon is, the less times you get to use it."

"Fewer."

"What?"

"Nothing, nevermind. So do you think they can use it again after so many times? What could it have been?"

"I don't know lad. Something's happenin'." Said Davos, pointing out at the open Blackwater, where the burning ships had been. There an apparition now floated midair in the night sky. It wore tattered black shrouds and chain mail that blew loosely in the wind. Its head was shrouded in a black hood and a metallic mask of strange design. In its right hand was a silver staff in the shape of a dragon and in its right hand was a thick leather-bound book. An eerie ethereal voice rang out from behind the metal mask and said:

"Greetings, mortals. I am Zahkriisos, a dragon priest in service of the Great One. You are trespassing on the sovereignty of our Lord. __Leave now__. If you proceed than you will be greeted with death and depravity."

"Ha! An undead. I heard the legends of the dead that roam the Shadow Lands but I didn't think I would ever see the face of the Enemy." Replied the velvet voice of a woman. Melisandre had stepped to the forward most part of the ship and addressed the apparition in the sky. "You are an abomination in the natural order dictated by the Lord of Light. The Lightbringer has come on behest of the Lord of Light to purge this city of the evil dead and establish the rightful rule of the one true king: Stannis Baratheon."

"You have a familiar fire about your spirit, priestess. I see what you are. The dead be not deceived by illusions. The supremacy of the Master will not be denied. You shall know the power bestowed upon me by the grace of the Ruler of Death. Any last statement, mortals? As the emissary of Death I allow you the moment for peace and repentance."

"I would like to thank you, undead thing." Replied Melisandre.

"Oh? Thank me? A surprise to be sure."

"I thank you for showing your face here for all the world to see. Showing the world what __you __really are. Now the Lord of Light is free to demonstrate his love to world and the people that righteously serve him. After today thousands will flock to the Glory of the Lord. After today, the supremacy of the Light will not be denied ever again."

"Beautiful final words, priestess. I will cherish the memory for the rest of eternity. However, this is the end of our conversation." Said the dark priest, opening up the heavy, leather-bound book. "May I know your name, fellow devote'?"

"Melisandre of Ashai."

"Goodbye, Priestess Milesandre. _I offer my unlife and call forth the power of the Black Book. I call upon the ancient forces of Apocrypha to bring forth these fell beasts. Awaken!_" called out the dark priest Zahkriisos as inky black tendrils reached out and consumed the apparition. In an instant the dark priest and his black book vanished.

Silence fell of the fleet of hundreds of ships the surrounded the bay. Matthas and his father looked at each other then back to Stannis.

"Hold your heads, men. We will not be frightened by witchcraft. If the demon king sends his emissaries then that weapon is of no more concern. Weigh anchor and press forward!" The ships all around began to echo the order, even the remaining Highgarden ships. The hundreds of galleons began to once more sail forward and carried on with the assault.

As the ships sailed into the bay once more a thick fog began to roll in. The eerie fog enveloped the fleet and completely filled the bay. The wind began to die down and the ship began to slow their locomotion

"I weren't expecting no fog tonight. I've got a bad feeling about this, boy. You should go below deck, for your own good."

"I will not run away and disgrace my king! I thought you was a knight, father? Don't give into fear and have faith."

"I don't need no faith to know this fog is witchcraft. Matthas we have to- Matthas watch out!" cried Davos the moment is saw it rising from behind his son. A gigantic humanoid fish-like monster, with a gaping jaw full of needle-like teeth. It was dark green and covered in a black oil. Davos attempted to pull his son away, but it was too late.

The great sea creature grappled Matthas with both fin-claws and easily hoisted him into the air. It fit the upper torso of the young man into its mouth and bit his frail body into two. It pulled the pieces apart and rank viscera spilled onto the wooden deck of the ship. Davos backed away from the terrifying creature and the horrifying scene. He had forgotten about all notions of honor and battle. Before this creature Davos knew one thing. __Fear.__

Davos Seaworth turned from the creature and ran to the lifeboats and began to untie them. He heard his king calling for his men to stand and fight as the fish monster stomped across the vessel and torn the limbs off of men it captured in its slimy hands. Many men chose to jump and Davos decided to lean over and see what their fate had become.

More of the creatures awaited below, swimming through the water and tearing the men apart as a shark would. Davos looked at his small lifeboat in despair. Below deck was the only answer. He ran past men that charged the monster with pikes to no avail. He reached the hatch that would take him below deck when he stopped to take in his surroundings. Hundreds of creatures all throughout the foggy bay had leeched out from the Blackwater, which was truly a thick black ink now. They crawled over ships and devoured men one by one. Swords and fire did nothing to deter the creatures. One raised its leg high into the air and stomped into the center of a ship and an explosion of inky black tendrils rendered the ship into two pieces.

Davos couldn't think straight and he ran below in mad hysteria. He ran into the dark interior of the ship and searched for a place to hide. While he was searching he could feel his fear boil over. He thought of the horror that had been his son and rage drove Davos to return topside and die trying to kill that thing. He pulled the sword at his waist and turned back to the hatch. He threw it open, and at the entrance was another creature, different from the fish thing from before.

This monster was shrouded in tattered, green rags and four long, withered arms jutted out of the floating mass of rags. Its face was the horrifying visage of a man combined with an octopus, with several long tendrils falling from its head. Davos lifted his sword but the creature grabbed both his arms with its lower arms and grabbed his faces with its upper hands.

__What is the greatest knowledge known to life? Oh please tell me, seaworthy.__ Said the creature with thoughts that echoed through Davos' mind. When he heard the words in his head he thought of the starving faces of the Stormlands that lit up at the sight of his boat full of onions. He thought of how it felt to know that he and his smuggled onions had saved so many lives at the city of Storm's End during Roberts Rebellion.

"__Onions…"__ was the only word that Davos could say as he thought of the people that had lived because of him and his smuggled onions.

**__**Magnificent! **__**The creature's echoing, ethereal voice cried into Davos' mind as it twisted his head and arms from the rest his body.

**_**Part III**_**

Renly Baratheon didn't understand what was happening. He __couldn't __understand. Renly had run below deck with Loras Tyrell and the rest of his King's Guard. He was tearing at his gloves with his teeth as he tried to think of what a good king would do.

"We have to regain control of the ship. We have to fight our way out and turn the ship around." He said frantically to Loras. "King's Landing is lost…"

"That monster bit the head of Brienne the Beauty clean off with no effort. We can't kill that thing, and there are other things out there. We will die!" retorted Loras, the image of the massacre above replaying over and over in his mind.

"We are going to die either way. Move to the top of the ship. Now!" Cried Renly. With that the men below deck began to make their way topside with swords and pikes in hand. They threw open the hatch and climbed out. It appeared that the creature had torn apart everyone that remained on deck and dove back into the water. One of the knights ran to the wheel of the ship and began to rapidly turn it port side. The ship began to turn about and Renly could get a better view of the carnage that lay waste to the combined forces of the Baratheon fleet.

Once the ship was turned around and they were attempting to escape through the fog Renly noticed a shift in the weather. A hot wind began to pick up and it blew the cool fog away. Storm clouds began to form. The younger stag king could hear an echoing chant in the distance in a language that he presumed to be High Valyerian. The storm clouds swirled and looked reminiscent of smoke and fire. The swirling clouds formed into an upside down egg shape before forming into the face of a devil.

_**_**"Be gone, beasts of the Enemy! I banish you from this realm. This world belongs to R'hllr, the Lord of Light." **_**_Spoke the voice of smoke and fire, shaking the bay with its force. _**_**"Turn and fight for your Lord, mortals. Be blessed that the Red God sends his regards for the weak. Take the city, go with the God of Fire, and root out the Unclean Things and the Lord of Light will receive you. Your Lord has Spoken…"**_**_

The face of swirling smoke and fire in the sky collapsed in on itself and vanished. __What kind of war of witchcraft has Stannis gotten me into? __Thought Renly as he watched the inky black and green creatures burst into flames and a cleansing fire arched across the waters. The fog and storm clouds dissipated and gave way to the clear night sky and the shining moon.

"T-turn the ship around, again…" said Renly reluctantly, ordering the knight at the helm to come about, again.

**_**Part IV**_**

Serana stood at the top of the battlements and watched the gigantic burning face give the mortals a glorified pep talk and then disappear.

__"Deadra…" __growled Serana under her breath. A Daedra on the level of a Daedric Prince had a presence here in the new world. It had just appeared and banished all of the summons that Serana had sacrificed a dragon priest to conjure. Through her mother's many experiments they had discovered that by sacrificing a powerful soul they could temporally activate the Black Books and other items of Oblivion. The soul would reside in the Black Books copy of Apocrypha until it could be retrieved through the Soul Cairn later. "Well, damn."

The massacre using Lurkers and Seekers and the Wildfire Mortar had been Serana's trump card. She had in fact dealt quite a bit of damage to the enemy fleet, reducing their numbers by nearly half. But with the Wildfire Mortar getting so hot the barrel warped and the appearance of the Daedra had put an end to that strategy.

Serana had underestimated how hot the wildfire could burn. Everything had run according to her plan but she lost several key shots with the barrel becoming warped. __Oh well, __She thought, __I had hoped the thing would last a little longer. It was a rush job though. __It didn't matter anymore. She had successfully reduced their number to a manageable amount. Now was when the fun began.

Serana jumped down from the battlements all the way to the floor behind the wall. There all three-hundred of the Dusk Legion that was in King's Landing stood at attention, awaiting battle. Behind them was the City Watch and Lannister House Guards. Serana was dressed in a light armor variant of the daedric armor that had been custom made specifically for her. On her head was the Aethereal Crown instead of the helmet and at her side was the daedric artifact, the Mace of Molag Bal. Serana had intentionally asked Saarkiin to allow her to keep the dreaded mace with her, for safe keeping.

The Dark Queen drew her mace and raised it high, inspiring her dark legion to do the same. Now would be the hour that they proved themselves to the Dark Lord.


	8. The Red God

**_**The Red God**_**

Serana returned to the top of the wall that separated the city from the bay and observed the approaching fleet. Even though she had decimated the forces of the green and golden ships, the remaining ships of the other usurper king floated closer to the beachhead. Half of their fighting force was gone, but she still had to face the combined might of two-hundred and fifty-thousand or more soldiers.

The city was only able to supply five-hundred house guards and two-hundred of the city watch. However, three-hundred of the elite Dusk Legions supplemented their ranks. Serana felt they would be more than enough to take on an army of mere mortals. __But if a Daedra as strong as a Daedric Prince takes part in the battle then I'm done for…__

Hundreds of longboats filled with soldiers began to make their landings on the beachhead. The Baratheon military formed their ranks and stood behind their fearsome leader, a man that one of the Lannisters had called Stannis Baratheon. Next to him stood a smug looking priestess with a grin that ran from ear to ear. __She must've been the one that called the Daedra to battle. Her robes aren't familiar… __Serana mused. This priestess worshiped a Daedra who was alien to Serana.

"Come out, leaders of the Enemy!" called out the red priestess. "Come and stand before the judgment of the Lord of Light!" she said.

"Lord of Light?" __Meridia?" Can't be… __Thought Serana. "Alright, diplomacy..." Serana sighed and leaped from the top of the tower. She became a swarm of bats and red mist that traveled across the beach and reformed a few meters in front of the enemy army, coming face to face with the Fire King and the Red Witch. "Um, can I help you?"

"Oh my. I didn't expect the Enemy to be so…" trailed off the Red Priestess.

"Her beauty is witchcraft. Stand fast men. She is but one of many monsters that run loose in the forsaken city." Said Stannis.

"Actually, these looks are all me, unlike the illusions on your red-headed friend over there. Honestly if I squint my eyes I can see some gray." Taunted Serana towards the woman in red. "I am Serana, the Daughter of Coldharbour and queen of this city.

"I am Milisandre of Ashai, priestess of the Lord of Light. And this is Stannis Baratheon, the Lightbringer, the Lord's Champion, and the One True King."

__Too bad Saarkiin isn't here. He loves throwing titles around.__ "You let your lady love do all the talking, big guy?" asked Serana.

"She does the talking. I'm here just for the burning…" growled Stannis, drawing his sword from his sheath. The blackened blade of the sword burst into flames as he held it in front of himself with both hands and began to approach Serana. Her vampire instincts kicked in. __Fire bad. __She thought taking a single step back. __Calm down, girl…__ No matter how hot that blade may burn, a mere mortal could never touch the Queen of Night.

"That's a lovely firepoker. However I'm guessing you're not the kind of guy that would fall for single combat. Besides, I can see you wanting to strut around with your great, big army. All men are the same. Then let's do this… But first [Gargoyles] come forth!" cried out Serana. Darkness formed around two locations next to Serana. When the black mist faded away two statues of terrifying beast remained.

The marble the statues were made of began to crack and gave way to the terrible forms of two high level Gargoyle Brutes. The two creatures let out frightening roars and stepped forward, causing the men standing behind Stannis to take a step backwards. Stannis turned and glared at his men.

"Welcome to King's Landing. These two lovelies are named Baron and Duke. They will be your hosts for the evening. Bye bye now." Said Serana as she became a flock of bats shrouded in red mist and took to the night air, returning to the walls.

The gargoyles that stood taller than two men put their right claws into the sand and took a stance that suggested they were ready to tackle, and tackle they did. At the speed of sound the two great brutes charged into the army. Stannis grasped Milisandre and dove to the ground, barely dodging the onslaught. The two beast tore through the army without much effort.

Soldiers cried and wailed as the gargoyles slashed and cut down man after man. One boy thought he could drive a spear through the two creatures and pin them together. The spear tip crashed into the side of Baron, and it did nothing to its stone skin. It turned and roared at the boy who in turn spun around to flee. It was too late. Duke came around to the other side of the boy and grabbed him by the shoulders. Baron grasped the boy at the waist, and the two beast pulled him apart. Soldiers all around scattered despite the sound of Stannis' voice calling them to stand fast.

At the sound of their initial targets voice, Baron and Duke turned to face Stannis. Stannis Baratheon held his flaming longsword in both hand challenging the beast of stone to face him and him alone. Baron flexed his wings and took a tackler stance once again. He charged, leaving a shockwave in his wake. Once again Stannis dodged, swinging his sword wildly. The blazing blade caught one of Barons wings, cleaving through it like warm butter.

The beast let out a cry of pain. Stannis stood his ground and prepared his own charge at the beast, but he forgot about Duke. The back of the other gargoyles claw swung around and cracked Stannis in the side of his head, knocking him to the ground. Duke took a step forward and placed its clawed foot on the Fire King's chest and began to crush the life from him. The flame of Stannis' sword began to die out.

**_**Part II**_**

Serana reformed on the tops of the walls that surrounded King's Landing. She turned to watch the massacre on the beach unfold. Her favorite two gargoyles were tearing the mortals apart, as expected. However she wasn't a coward nor was she daft. The gargoyles were only a distraction while she prepared her own charge. Also, if the power of a Daedra was really involved then two mere gargoyle brutes wouldn't last very long.

She jumped down to the floor behind the wall and was greeted by the two vampire nightstalkers that had manned the Wildfire Mortar. They had their blades out and at the ready as did the Dusk Legionnaires behind them. __Well, here goes nothing.__

"Open the gates! Tonight you shall make your Lord and Master proud!"

….

The red priestess caste an unholy fire spell and the gargoyle, Duke, burst into flames and stumbled backwards, releasing Stannis from his fate. Baron kicked sand at his burning comrade but to no avail. The fire continued to rage.

"Attack it now! Hammers!" ordered Stannis as he got to his feet. His soldiers heard their king's command and rushed the brutes with war-hammers in hand. They bashed the gargoyle over and over and over again. With the raging inferno the brute's stone skin became brittle and finally gave way to the crashing hammers. It crumbled into dust and stone.

Baron let out a mourning roar and turned to face the source of the flames; the priestess Milisandre chanting in High Valyrian. It stretched its remaining wing and prepared to charge. That was when a burning blade was ran into the back of the stone beast. It let out a final whimper and it too crumbled into pieces.

Stannis Baratheon pulled his sword from the stone and held it high, the flames dancing in the night sky. His army reformed their ranks behind their king with new vigor and morale. Stannis' face was deep red, his eyes bloodshot, and his hair and skin looked as if it was being singed away. He let out a deep huff and smoke came from his mouth.

"King's Landing is mine…"

…..

The gate known as the Mud Gate opened, revealing the army of darkness behind. The Dusk Legionnaires, led by Serana, marched forth into the sand and mud and formed ranks behind their queen. The dark soldiers in their black armor stood unwavering and unmoving. Emotionless and perfect.

Serana pointed her demonic mace forward and cried out. The Dusk Legion gave a silent war cry and charged. All three hundred soldiers ran head on into the counter charging force of some two-hundred and fifty-thousand men. The two forced collided, and Stannis' men were forced back. The Dusk Legion cleaved through men without remorse or hesitation. Blades slipped into the holes and weak point in their black armor did nothing. However strikes with war hammers seemed to leave and impression on the peerless warriors. Serana, with dark magics, gave silent orders to the Dusk Legion to kill the once with hammers first and they complied without comment.

Serana then saw what had been Stannis Baratheon carving his way through her legion. __Is that really the man I just spoke with? What's going on? __She thought as she observed the battlefield. Stannis was transforming. His skin was red, his eyes were dark and heavy, his head was suddenly bald, and something that appeared to be horns were growing out of his forehead. __It looks as if the heat of battle is turning him into a dremora. I have to deal with this myself…__

She turned into bats once again and made her way through the chaos, reforming behind Stannis. He turned instinctively and swung his burning sword at Serana. She blocked the strike with her mace and kicked the burning king in his gut. He didn't budge, however.

"You're a tough one, aren't you?" teased Serana. "The power of a Daedra really is intoxicating, isn't it?"

"Die!" cried Stannis, though not Stannis... He swung the burning blade once again and once again Serana knocked the strike away.

"You really aren't good at this…" she said, side stepping another strike. Then she spun around and crashed the Mace of Molag Bal into the side of Stannis' head, caving the side of his skull in and sending him to the ground for good. The Baratheon army, at the sight of their fallen king, immediately broke off their assault and backed away, this time falling back behind Milisandre of Ashai. She was smiling for some reason…

"Your king is dead. Leave this place while you still have your lives." Said Serana.

"One king is dead. But there are others." Replied Milisandre.

"Okay, this just got boring. We're done." Replied Serana, returning her mace to its holster and taking a stance of power. "If it's your choice to keep fighting then no one leaves here alive. [Lightningstorm]!"

And with that a torrent of lightning was cast from Serana's hands and cut through the remaining soldiers. Screams of agony could be heard throughout the night air as thousands of men became dust. Serana's magicka depleted completely and the screams stopped. When the smoke and dust settled, only Milisandre somehow remained with that smile still present of her face. Then Serana could hear clapping in the distance.

"Marvelous. Simply Marvelous." Said an unfamiliar voice.

"What now…" Serana turned and saw marching from the western side of the beach another group of soldiers, led my another man wearing another crown and bright green armor.

"And who might you be?" asked Serana. The newcomer was on horseback and looked just as smug as the priestess. He rode up next to Milisandre and seemed to be surveying the area. He didn't have many soldiers with him and Serana was confidant her remaining Dusk Legionaries could clear them out easily, but something wasn't right.

"Ah, it's seems an introduction is in order. But it's crowded. I don't like crowds." Said the mysterious newcomer. He held out his hand which had bloody fingernails growing unnaturally and he snapped his fingers.

The remnants of Serana's fighters as well as the two vampire night stalker that had been helping her issue orders from the rear all burst into flames. In seconds her army had also become dust and she was left alone on the battlefield. A wall of flames appeared behind her and without her magicka she couldn't become bats and flee. She was trapped. __Oh no…__ She thought with sudden realization.

"As for Who I am. This body had belonged to that one's younger brother." Said the man in green gesturing towards the ruin of Stannis in the mud below. "I think its name was Renly. _**_**I am R'hollr, Lord of Light.**_**_ As for you?You are __not __my Enemy. Our battle is not meant to take place for years to come. Why are you here __vampire?"__

"Oh, you know what vampires are? So I get the honor of meeting one of the 'gods' of this world. Well if you must know, were basically doing the same thing you are, __Daedra."__

"How do you know that name…" said the Red God in green armor, his eyes glowing red.

"It's a long story and I'm not talking."

"A shame. I'll have to burn the secrets from that beautiful face of yours. Ah but first, the heretics must be dealt with." He said, snapping His fingers once again. Smoke and fire began to swirl into storm-like clouds over King's Landing. Fire and brimstone started to rain down into the city setting the buildings aflame inside.

"No!" screamed Serana, rushing the man in green. He disappeared into smoke and fire as Serana brought her mace down on the back of the horse where he had been moments ago. A wall of flames struck Serana hard, forcing her back to the ground. R'hollr stood over Serana and kicked her closer to the fiery wall that was engulfing the Mud Gate. She coughed up blood and rose to her feet, still brandishing her mace.

"Quaint." Teased the Red God, a burning spear forming in his hands and boiling its flesh. "Too bad we can't play much longer, My lovely undead. But this body didn't belong to a real king. Only a true king's blood can satisfy My immaculate form. Now you will tell Me everything you know. Then you may die."

The God in green, red hot armor plunged the burning spear into her gut and lifting her into the air without effort. Serana cried out in intense pain as He then flung her across the beach. Serana struggled to get to her feet once again, holding her cauterized wound. __I think I'm done for…__

"For the sake of your beauty and the most fun I've had in ages I'll grant you one final word. What say you, undead?"

"Ah…."

"_**_**Lok Vah Koor!" (Clear Skies) **_**_Cried out a booming, thundering voice in the far off distance, shaking the land below. The swirling clouds of smoke, fire, and brimstone above dissipated and gave way to clear skies.

"….the forgotten words…." Said the Daedra, astonished.

"Looks like you've lost your chance…" said Serana, collapsing to the ground, motionless.

**_**Part III**_**

Loras Tyrell, the last of Renly Baratheon's Kingsguard, rested on the back of his horse behind the man that used to be his lover. After they had turned the ship around Loras watched as Renly, still shaking from the sight of the demonic image that had appeared in the skies, dropped to his knees and sincerely prayed for the first time in his life. Loras had chastised his king for showing weakness in front of his men.

__What men?! Who is left?! __Renly had said. He realized he was right and Loras became silent. When Renly rose from his trembling knees he had become…different. He did not seem like the Renly that Loras loved anymore. Now with the turn of recent events Loras knew who had taken the body of his rightful king. The Red God from the Shadow Lands. R'hollr.

"Flower boy! Fetch Me the body of that dead vampire. I wish the strip it naked and put it on display on the castle walls. A reminder to those who would defy My divine rights." Said the voice that Loras had once adored.

"Y-yes master…" replied Loras, quickly jumping down from his warhorse and running over to the lifeless body lying in the bloodstained sands. He reached down and grabbed the body, which was lighter than he thought it would be. The corpse of this woman was indeed beautiful, but her beauty was lost on the likes of the Knight of Flowers. He hoisted the body up and threw its arms around his neck so that he could easily carry it over to the God in Renly's form.

Loras Tyrell only took a few steps before he felt two cold needles sink into the flesh of his pale neck. In mere seconds his body went as cold as the needles and darkness enveloped his world…

…

The life blood drained from the unlucky knight and his body tumbled to the ground, entangled with Serana's. She straddled the man and sucked out every last drop the knight had to offer. Revitalized, but still weary, Serana rose to her feet and faced her enemy once again.

"You're a resilient one aren't you?" said the Red God, seemingly more amused than anything else. "I was sure you had died!"

"I'm already dead. Did you forget I'm a vampire?"

"I'm well aware. How did you survive My spear of flame? No matter. You won't come back from becoming ash." Replied R'hollr, raising his hand as another spear of fire formed in his boiling palms. He took an athletic stance and hurled the burning spear like a javelin.

However, this time Serana caught the spear in her hands. The Aethereal Crown on top of Serana's head began to glow and the symbol of the Atronach sign appeared on her forehead. The magical fire spear broken down and was converted into magicka which was in turned absorbed by Serana refilling her own store of magic.

"Impossible!" declared the Red God.

"Looks like I've still got a few tricks up my sleeves... We're done here. Daedra may not care about the lives of their followers beyond a means to an end, but I actually give a damn about my people being burned alive." Said Serana as she became a flock of bats and red mist. She ascended into the air and darted into the city. The fire storm had been cleansed but the city of King's Landing was still in flames. Serana remembered that she had ordered the people of the city to remain in their homes, no matter what.

Before Serana was out of sight she turned her ethereal body of bats and mist around to see something she did not expect. The angry, red faced man possessed by a Daedra turned over. Wings of bone and flame erupted from his back and he took the air in pursuit. However he was not as fast as Serana who lost him in the smoke.

….

The Red Keep was in flames. The old Petyr Baelish from before would have fled for his life without a second thought. Now he was devoted heart and soul to the Queen of Night. So the self-made man known as Littlefinger had led the effort of organizing the Royal faction and leading them to the underground passageways for safety.

The systems of escape tunnels, designed by the late Targaryans, twisted underground and came out to a secret entrance near the Mud Gate. It was intended to allow the nobility to escape during situations such as this, albeit a little less extreme. The group, which consisted of Cersei, her children, and the remaining Lannisters and other noble loyalist, stumbled through the dark and twisting underground halls looking for an exit to their salvation. Finally a light could be seen flickering at the end of the tunnel. They rushed towards the escape route. However they were amiss to see that the exit to the streets near the Mud Gate was encased in burning rubble.

Littlefinger thought quickly and turned the group around, ignoring the queen regent urging the group to return to the Red Keep. He remembered another exit closer to where the dragon bones had been collected after the success of Robert's Rebellion. The group of nobles following Petyr ran as fast as their feet could carry them into the darkness of the tunnels once again.

After some time in the dark tunnels they reached the end of Littlefinger's new route and emerged into the early morning air. Petyr and the rest of the survivors from the red keep found themselves inside a set of ruins on the other side of the city. The Dragon Pits, an open area surrounded by Colosseum-like ruins where the Targaryans of old would house and train their dragons.

"I don't hear the sounds of fighting coming from the city. No clashing, no screaming, nothing..." said Petyr to himself as the various nobility regrouped at the center of the pit. __Perhaps we should remain here and wait for help.__

Just as Littlefinger was about to turn and share his thoughts with the rest of the group he spotted something like a flickering candle in the sky. He squinted and started to make out the form of a man in green armor flying through the night sky.

Suddenly the flying, green man dropped out of the sky and landed on his knee in front of the noble survivors. It was none other than Renly Baratheon. Or...Renly Baratheon with a face charred around the edges like burnt paper and two burning, skeletal wings resting on his back.

"Renly?" asked Littlefinger, visibly confused.

"__Shhh..." __replied Renly, holding a finger with a long red nail to his pursed lips. The burning king then held out his other hand which was grasping a sword. The sword began to melt in his clutch and the molten steel reformed into a two-pronged bident.

"Be thankful..." said a woman's voice. Standing some distance behind Renly was a woman in a red dress and dark red hair. She held up her hands in a manner similar to prayer. "The Lord of Light needs to maintain this Earthly form for a little longer. He demands sacrifice. Your lives will be given to sustain the Lord. Thank you."

Before Littlefinger or any of the rest of the nobles could speak a single word the demonic Renly held the molten bident in front of himself and flames began to come gushing out, the deadly embers flowing like a liquid. In a matter of moments Petyr Baelish and the royal family became ash.

**_**Part IV**_**

Serena reformed her body in the center of King's Landing. She began rushing from door to door, smashing them down with her mace and screaming at the people inside the buildings to flee for their lives. Her pool of magicka was running thin but she didn't hesitate to use [Frostbite] to put out fires in attempt to rescue as many of her citizens as possible.

She wondered to herself '__why'__ as she pulled a child from burning wreckage and throwing it into the arms of its mother. Despite her own undead nature and the horrible things she had done in the past, she still couldn't help but care. In their old empire Serana had to be the voice of compassion due to Saarkiin having the emotional capacity one would expect from an animated skeleton. Over time she had grew to care for the hundreds of thousands of people that had become her responsibility.

Then the memories of the gilded avatars of the Aedra destroying cities full of innocents because of her and her husbands actions. __Never again__, she thought as she came across Littlefinger's brothel. It, like every other building in the city, was on fire. Many women that worked and lived their as well as their children were trapped inside and unable to escape.

Serana ripped away the curtain that covered the front entrance and rushed inside. As a vampire the fire and smoke began to drain away at her as she carried out one person after another. Fatigue began to set in and the last of her magicka drained away from putting out the fires.

She dropped to her knee after dragging another woman from the flames, yet many more were still trapped inside. However, to Serana's surprise, the people of King's Landing did not run. Many men and women worked together with pales and buckets of water and shovels of dirt to try to put out the inferno. Some were wrapping damp cloths around their faces and weathered the flames themselves to rescue those still trapped.

"My queen..." said a young woman that knelt down to try and help Serana to her feet. It would seem that the people had seen Serana's effort to save them and found it endearing. She took the young woman's hand and hoisted herself back upright, thanking the girl. __If I could still sweat I would be drenched right now. __She thought as she wiped her brow of soot and prepared to rush headlong back into the blaze.

The sky opened up and a ball of flames dropped into the brothel, destroying everything that remained. Serana grabbed the girl that had helped her up and shielded her from most of the blast. She rose from the ground and looked around rapidly. __He __was standing inside the ash and wreckage of the brothel, chuckling at the sight of Serana and the wounded people around her.

"You bastard!" cried Serana. R'hollr stepped out from the destruction, holding a molten steel bident in his right hand.

"Hello beautiful." replied the Red God, a smirk stretching across his face. "You're a fast one too. Such a fun chase. However, I'm done playing. I am going to end this now. Then I am going to burn Westeros from Dorne to the Wall. There's always next summer to put my master plan into fruition and defeat my true Enemy."

"I'm not done yet. I won't back down this time." said Serana, stepping up to R'hollr and pointing her mace. "You're the first one to make me do this in a very long time. Everyone here needs to be running..."

Serana became enveloped in a dark, blood-like substance and the form beneath it began to change shape. The dark form exploded, revealing the true form of a royal vampire. Serana's new body was taller, gray-skinned, and muscular. Her head was more bulbous and her dark hair hung down her back and shoulders like a mane.

Serana's face remained mostly the same, but with the top and bottom canine's sharpened and protruding. The most noticeable feature was now the two large, bat-like wings on her back. Unlike most vampire lords her wings remained intact and fully developed giving off the sense of an impressive wingspan. She was bare from the waist up and her waist was covered in dark dress ropes and various red tassels and hanging cloth.

"Now you show your true colors. I've never seen a creature like you before. A shame a rare specimen has to die now." said the Red God.

R'hollr and Serana spread their wings and leaped into the air. The Red God thrust his bident, beginning the battle in earnest. Serana dissolved into bats once again and reformed behind R'hollr. She held out her clawed hand and a ball of red light shot forth, catching R'hollr off guard.

Serena continued with her tactic of moving from place to place in her bat and mist forms and attacking from a distance with blood magic in a desperate attempt to get herself back to full strength. __If I can heal myself enough I can revert back and steal some of his magicka with the Aetherial Crown. I can do this!__

The burning man in green armor was slow. The mortal body of the Lord of Light was beaten and broken, fire erupting from cracks in his skin and armor. Serana kept up the assault, supplying small amounts of her own blood to maintain her balance between health and magicka. She landed on top of a nearby building that had escaped the inferno and prepared for one final attack run. She put her hands together and charged another [Blood Siphon]. This was it.

That was the moment when the sun rose, its blinding, purifying light striking Serana with full force. The spell dispelled as she shielded her eyes from the light. In her moment of hesitation she took the full impact of the most powerful fireball she had ever felt. Serana was blown clean off the side of the building and crashed into the earth below. Her form became like black blood once again the the visage of the vampire lord faded away.

She struggled to get up and tried to find her enemy in the air. She spotted him, but he was different now. The burning cracks still remained in Renly's burnt flesh, but the skeletal wings of fire on his back were now covered in golden feathers. On gilded eagle wings the Red God descended into the streets below.

"You're...a Divine?" said Serana from her crater below, shielding her eyes from the glowing god.

"I am many, many things. Patient is one of them. The sun reveals one of many truths, and I am curious as to how such a lowly undead knows so many secrets about the demons and the divines. However, my dear, we are finished." said R'hollr, catching Serana's neck in between the prongs of his molten bident. He hoisted her into the air and began to twist the rod. Serana screamed but was thankful that her undead body didn't have to breath. The prongs burned into her neck as she struggled to get free.

"Before you die I want you to see your city burn." the Lord of Light raised his hand and prepared to shoot a torrent of flames into the surrounding buildings and the people that had stayed behind for their queen.

As R'hollr took his attention from Serana another figure appeared. A curved, black sword came down and cut straight through the molten bident and freed Serana. As she fell another person appeared and grabbed her before she hit the ground. Jamie Lannister and Rob Stark stood between Serana and a god, weapons at the ready.

"My queen, we have to run!" shouted Rob.

"None can escape the reach of the light. No one will leave this city alive on this day." said R'hollr, pointing a reforming bident at the two newcomers.

"_**_**Aedra..." **_**_echoed a dark, and solemn voice.

**_**Part V**_**

Saarkiin had drove the Northern army beyond their limits and had arrived at a burning King's Landing by morning. Some distance away he could see the swirling clouds and a spell that the dark lord was all too familiar with. [Meteor Call]. However, even from such a distance, Saarkiin's [Clear Skies] shout did the trick of clearing the wave of destruction.

After that Saarkiin pushed ahead of his armies, Rob and Jamie being the only ones to keep up. The arrived at the gates and without hesitation Saarkiin used his [Unrelenting Force] shout to shatter the wood and steel portcullis. The three leaped into the city and arrived at the site of an Aedric-like creature laying siege to the city.

Rage filled the bones of the dark lord. He had failed to identify a substantial enemy and he had failed the people he ruled over once again. And now, his pale lights could see, his beloved Serana was at the mercy of Saarkiin's own failure.

Jamie and Rob had acted quickly and without order from the silent, stationary skeleton in black armor. The two had grabbed Serana an were preparing to make their escape. However the man in green armor and gilded wings gave pursuit.

"_**_**Aedra..." **_**_rang out the dark and solemn voice of the dark lord. He became as shadows and appeared behind the burning creature.

"More undead? Who summoned you, skeleton?

_**_**"[Grasp of Sithis]"**_**_ replied Saarkiin holding out a red, glowing hand. When he used the Elder Scroll of Oblivion to seek a way to defeat the Daedra he learned the most powerful spells used by each of the Daedric Princes. The Aedra standing before grabbed his chest and leaped away, flapping his flamboyant wings. "You resisted an instant death spell... My...aren't we a powerful Divine." Normally Saarkiin would monologue and toy with his prey. Yet this Aerda has sinned greatly and would pay for its transgressions in haste.

"What are you!" cried the confused man in green and gold. He pointed his repaired bident and prepared to open fire. Saarkiin dissolved into shadow and reappeared next to the Red God. He reached out with a black hand and a dark glow and touched R'hollr's chest.

**_**"[Mehrunes Touch]"**_**

R'hollr attempted to batter Saarkiin with his wings and flew to the rooftops to get some distance between himself and this new thing that had appeared. Saarkiin became shadows once again and moved to the rooftops as well, facing the god down.

"Why do you flee? You seem able to resist most of my death magic. Or does that body die each time and you have to use more power to bring it back from the brink?"

R'hollr's face twitched in anger. He leaped higher into the air and raised the bident once again.

"I will not be bested by some random undead! Damn you and damn this city!" cried out the Lord of Light as a massive fireball came forth from the prongs of the bident. It crashed directly into Saarkiin, but the flames converted into magicka and poured into the dark skeleton.

**_**"Mul-Qah-Diiv [Aspect of the Dragon]"**_**

When the smoke and fire cleared Saarkiin had a fainted blue and orange glow about his presence and glowing, ethereal dragon armor aligned with his Ebony Mail.

"H-how? I don't understand. Where did you come from?"

"Relent, Aedra. You will __not __leave this city alive."

"Answer me!" shouted R'hollr hurtling his bident at the dark lord. Saarkiin collapsed into shadows and the molten weapon passed through. "No. You will not win. As along as the Sun hangs in the sky than I, the Lord of Light, will not fall."

"_**_**Is that so..." **_**_echoed Saarkiin from all directions. He reformed from the smoky shadows and held out his right hand and blood-like red energy formed into a sphere that resembled the sun itself. Saarkiin crushed it in his cold grip. The Sun itself erupted in a swirling red mass before reforming into an empty black hole in the crimson sky. All turned gray, and all was dark.

"N-no..." whimpered the god of light in a darkened world.

"****[Auriel's Bloodcurse] ****Don't worry. The effects only last for a twenty-four hour period. The Sun shall return once again."

R'hollr, God of Fire and Lord of Light, fell from the sky. Powerless, he crashed into the streets below. He tried to rise as the feathers fell from his gilded wings like leaves in the fall. As he rose to his feet the shadows gathered behind him. A black blade slipped into the back of the green armor and out of the chest that once belonged to Renly. The body turned into a ashen statue. When it crumbled away a golden light shot into the darkened sky and into the distant east.


	9. The Snake in the Garden

**_**The Snake in the Garden**_**

Weeks had passed since the Battle of King's Landing. The fires of the Red God had spread rapidly and over three fourths of the city had been lost to the ashes. The city had been left beyond reconstruction and repair. Many lives had been lost and Saarkiin had found himself in charge of five-thousand refugees.

Though technically heartless, Saarkiin was not without empathy. His presence and influence had alerted the Aedra of this world and he was responsible for the destruction of the lives of the innocent. Therefore Saarkiin had taken it upon himself to find new homes for the destitute of the ashen city. Besides, it had been a personal request from Serana. Some were sent with Rob and the rest of the Northerners to be given new lives in the North. Some had chosen to march off to the Westerlands to serve under the newly appointed Warden, Tyrion Lannister. The rest had been gathered at a refugee camp built around Harrenhall.

With the destruction of the main trading hub of Westeros the local economy had taken a devastating blow. The Greyjoy fleet was stretched thin trying to accommodate the various villages, towns, and cities that relied on traded goods arriving from the capitol. Soon food shortages and famine would begin plaguing the people living in the center of the continent.

With this in mind Saarkiin had charged Jamie and Tyrion with the task of laying siege to the Reach and Dorne. The southern most portion of the continent had refused to yield to the demands of the Dark Lord and had formed a blockade against the rest of Westeros who had fallen in line behind what they knew was best for them and their loved ones.

Saarkiin felt that he should probably be the one to personally subjugate those who would oppose his will, but Serana had yet to recover from her strenuous battle with the Aedra known as R'hollr. He had taken her back to Castle Volkihar to oversee her recovery while also dragging along his newest slave, the Red Priestess named Milisandre, to be interrogated about the whereabouts of anymore Aedra or Daedra that might still be lurking in this world.

She had been revealed to what she truly was, and ancient and decrepit old woman on the verge of death and decay. Without the power of the Red God she would soon perish. However the vampires of Volkihar had bathed her in potions of blood and healing, restoring her to her youth before converting her into a vampiric thrall. Only then did she tell Saarkiin everything about Essos, the Free Cities, Ashai, and the Shadowlands. Valuable information for the future of Saarkiin's new empire.

**_**Part II**_**

Tyrion and his brother, Jamie, rested on the backs of their horses out in an open field with only their bodyguards at their sides; Gergor "The Mountain that Rides" Clegane and Bronn the sellsword. Bronn had disappeared when that dark thing had made its first appearance to the Lannister army, but then he miraculously reappeared when word had spread that Tyrion was the new Warden of the West.

Tyrion had no time to care for the show of cowardice Bronn had displayed. Rather he had respected it to some degree. He was in need of good men that knew how to get their hands dirty and His Majesty had a great many dirty plans in store for this world. He had taken Tyrion to the side and had confided in him with the machinations of what would become his new empire. It would appear that Lord Saarkiin's hunger would not be sated with just the continent of Westeros. His hollow eyes are set on every corner of this world. Today's target was the city of Highgarden, tomorrow's was the rest of the Firmament.

Behind Tyrion and Jamie and at some distance away was the newly reformed and refurbished Lannister military. Twenty-five thousand men stood at the ready to carry out the will of the God of Death. Dark soldiers known as the Dusk Legionaries lurked within the ranks to ensure that each man served their new god to the fullest of their potential. However now was not the time for battle. His Majesty had demanded that Tyrion take the Highgarden without use of force and with as little bloodshed as possible.

"So how much blood do you think we're about to shed?" Tyrion asked his brother.

"Hopefully all of it."

"Of course..." Tyrion tried not to look in disgust at his brother Jamie. He had become something entirely alien when he had taken that cursed sword from Saarkiin. Jamie had not been affected at all when news that the entire royal family had been decimated and turned to ash. His face didn't even flinch when it had been discovered that, in his despair over the loss of his family, Joffery had thrown himself off a cliff into the Blackwater. The only thing that was left of his beloved brother was just his face. What was behind it was a monster.

The four men awaited in the fields for the opposing party to arrive so that they could begin negotiations. Highgarden had grown bolder despite their harsh defeat at King's Landing. They lost their king, their lord, and their eldest heir in that battle. However they had formed an alliance with the Dornish, who did not believe in the fables of King's Landing's destruction, and had become embolden against the Lannister forces. If only these poor fools knew the army at their doorsteps today was not what they should be fearing.

As time passed an entourage of people began to emerge from behind the high walls of Highgarden. It was Oberyn Martell, his troop of bastard daughters known as the Sand Snakes, Margery Tyrell standing in for her late father, brother, and husband, and many bodyguards of their own. A much more sizable group compared to the four men that stood on the opposite side of the field.

"Good afternoon Lords and Ladies. I hope were not causing you too much trouble on such a fine day." said Tyrion.

"No pleasantries, Lannister. Tell me, why does Tywin send his Mad Dog to stand before me?" spat Oberyn. He did not seem too pleased that Gregor Clegane was present. Tyrion had protested bringing the Mountain along, but Jamie insisted for some reason.

"Tywin is dead. I am lord of Casterly Rock now as well as Warden of the West."

"I didn't think any snake could be poisonous enough to strike down the great Tywin Lannister. How did he die?"

"He was taken by the God of Death." Tyrion said dryly.

"As we all are, eventually. Pray tell the cause though?"

"Tyrion literally means the God of Death. My master commanded me to take his head myself. The Lord and Master of Westeros, Saarkiin." cut in Jamie with a classic smirk. Oberyn's face contorted in confusion.

"I have never heard of this name. It means nothing to me or to Dorne."

"My father thought the same thing. He now feeds the worms. Would you have the entirety of Dorne and the Reach do the same?" said Tyrion.

"Are you threatening me, dwarf?" said the man called the Red Viper, clear venom in his voice.

"I make no threats. I __promise __that if we do not settle things peacefully here today than a dark and terrible entity that calls himself Saarkiin will march down here and personally burn down Highgarden and turn the sands of Dorne into glass. You don't want that. __I __do not want that."

"Dorne has never been conquered in five-hundred years or longer. I don't fear the stories of gods. I never have. I didn't take the Lannisters for the religious type. You may lay siege to Highgarden, but you know as well as I do that would be the height of folly." replied Oberyn.

The Red Viper of Dorne was right, of course. For any army to attempt to siege the Reach without so much as a dragon was pure farce. Highgarden was renowned for its expansive indoor and rooftop gardens and its ability to survive just about any war of attrition. They could hide behind their walls for years while the Dornish used their unparalleled guerrilla tactics to chip away at the seizing armies. Yet they did not understand that attrition would not be a mercy the overlord would allow.

"I tell no tall tales Lord Martell. I have seen this thing with my own eyes, as has every man standing behind me. If you resist I fear he may tear the Reach and Dorne apart with his __own __two hands. Just like he did to Tywin's army." Tyrion pleaded.

It seemed that the true fear in Tyrion's eyes were enough to dissuade Oberyn from making anymore threats of battle. The eagerness in his voice had caught his attention.

"You truly are afraid of something. I don't understand what could have gotten under your skin but for some reason I can't help but believe you to a certain extent. If we were to lay down our arms then what would be the conditions of surrender?" said Oberyn. The dark skinned women behind his back looked at their father with surprise. One opened her mouth to say something, but Oberyn raised his hand and hushed her without even taking his eyes off of Tyrion.

"The conditions of surrender are simple. The leaders of Dorne and Highgarden will travel to the North and meet with His Majesty alongside the King in the North at Winterfell. There you will swear your undying loyalty to the God of Death, from now until eternity. I'm sorry this had to happen."

"Surely you jest! I have never and will never swear a word to any man, living or dead. Nor do I believe in your gods."

"I wish I didn't believe it either. Please, I don't want him to be disappointed and attend this war personally. Is their anything I can do at this moment to placate you so that you and Margery will at least accompany me North to meet with Saarkiin?" pleaded Tyrion once again. Oberyn reached up and stroked his mustache in deep thought. Then he pointed directly at the Mountain.

"Him. I want _him_. Right now."

"Sir Gregor?"

"Yes. I want to make him confess." said Oberyn. Tyrion knew exactly what the Red Viper wanted. Long ago during Robert's Rebellion Tywin had given the Mountain the order to slay Oberyn's niece and nephew as well as rape and kill his sister. The Red Viper wanted his vengeance here and now.

"But of course, my lord!" cut in Jamie, abruptly. "I'll hand my most trusted commander to you on a silver platter. Just give me a moment."

Jamie jumped down from the back of his horse and order the Mountain to do the same. The massive Gregor Clegane jumped down from the back of his warhorse and stood at attention before Jamie.

"Good. Now Ser Gregor. Confess your crimes to Lord Oberyn." said Jamie, softly.

"I..I..."

"That is an order." said Jamie. Oberyn jumped down from his horse as well and took a spear from one of the Sand Snakes. He pointed it at the Mountain and said:

"Say it! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children!"

"I..I raped her..." stammered the Mountain, sweating profusely.

"You murdered her!"

"I-I murdered..."

"You killed her children!"

"K-killed her children..."

"There. You got your confession. Satisfied? No? Okay, Ser Gregor, one more question." said Jamie. "Do you trust me?"

"M'lord?" asked Gregor, visibly confused.

"Do. You. Trust. Me? Yes or no?"

Gregor Clegane couldn't form the words but he shook his head in affirmation.

"Good. Good..." said Jamie, nodding his head and patting Ser Gregor on his breastplate before taking a few steps back. Oberyn looked like he was about to chunk his spear at the Mountains neck. Yet before he could Jamie grabbed the hilt of the Ebony Blade and drew it from his back and drove it into the chest of the massive knight, the blade flashing with inhuman speed like a bolt of black lightning.

Jamie twisted the blade while his face twisted in ecstasy. With only his right hand gripping the hilt of the legendary blade Jamie lifted the giant of a man straight into the air and over his head, showing no sign of strain. He turned and looked the shocked Oberyn directly into the eye and flicked his wrist, hurdling the limp body of the humongous knight fifteen meters away. The Mountain landed with a blood-curdling crunch and created a crater on impact.

Everyone present, even Tyrion, was terrified. Oberyn was backing away and Margery had her hands over her mouth. The Sand Snakes and other bodyguards were on high alert and had their guards up. Then Jamie said:

"That was just a taste of the power granted to me by His Majesty. __Do not__ keep my master waiting, snakes."

Jamie jumped back onto his horse and rode off, alone. Tyrion and Oberyn looked back at each other and Tyrion threw his hands up.

"Welcome to my life..."

**_**Part III**_**

Saarkiin sat in his cambers next to the fireplace. He was no longer in his ebony armor but instead wore his fine, hooded black robes. A grump and groggy Serana had clambered out of her coffin and had crawled into Saarkiin's lap before returning to sleep. He remained silent as he sat with her and let her continue to rest.

Upon returning to Castle Volkihar Saarkiin had been cornered by Valerica and received a verbal beat-down of the ages. Even god-like beings weren't free from the tyranny of in-laws. However, she had been right. His reckless desire to conquer had nearly cost him the only thing he had left to care for in this endless undeath. He would have to move more carefully this time.

Saarkiin mused over his plans for the future. Hopefully everything would go as plan to the south and he wouldn't have to bring his wrath down upon more innocents. Not that he cared for their lives, but the Dark Lord had no desire to rule over and empire of corpses or cause more problems for Serana.

The old skeleton rose from his place and carried Serana back to her coffin. As he resealed the royal vampire coffin a shadow appeared in the room. Vingalmo knelt before his master and said:

"An emissary from Winterfell has arrived. He says the King in the North has an urgent message concerning the Night's Watch."

"Hm. Of course. I shall make for Winterfell on the 'morrow. Any news from Tyrion's forces in the south?"

"No, my lord. Forgive me."

"Hm. Leave me." he said, waving his bony hand. With that Vingalmo departed into the shadows. Saarkiin put his hands behind his back and began to make his way to the throne room where he would wait until morning came. He pulled his hood back and decided that he would reequip the Ebony Mail before he returned to his throne.

As he made to leave his chamber a sharp pain struck the dark lord in the chest. He dropped to one knee and grasped at his rib cage. Saarkiin struggled to get up and made his way back to his original seat. There he remained for several more hours as the pain slowly alleviated.

Morning came and Serana emerged from her slumber. She saw Saarkiin slumped over a stone chair and rushed to his side without hesitation.

"Hey! What's wrong!?" she cried. "I've never seen you like this."

"I'm alright, Serana. I just felt a hard tug upon my soul. Something that I thought I would never feel again. I was unprepared."

"What do you mean?"

"He has returned..."

"Who has?" frantically asked Serana. Saarkiin raised his hand and put it over his face and said:

**_**"Alduin...".**_**

_**Part IV**_

Several weeks had passed since Tyrion and Jamie had met with Prince Oberyn at the outskirts of the city of Highgarden and negotiated a peaceful armistice. Now the Lannister, Martell, and what little was left of the Tyrell army marched towards the northern realms.

Only once the massive military conglomerate had passed the ruins of Kings Landing did Oberyn and his men finally understand the gravity of the situation. When Tywin had sacked the same city seventeen years ago he hadn't brought nearly as this much damage on the capitol. What had been the most populated city in Westoros was now a hollow ruin of ash and the dead.

Another day's ride and the march came to a temporary halt at the refugee camps gathered in and around Harrenhal. There Tyrion and the rest of the soldiers in his and Oberyn's following made their camp.

Oberyn walked alongside Tyrion around the refugees in the center of the ancient, dragon scorched fortress. The people here were the injured and dying that couldn't make the long and stressful travel to what would have been their new homes in the North.

"Go on. Talk to them. They will tell you what you want to know. What you're about to come face to face with..." said Tyrion, pointing to despot, former citizens of Kings Landing.

Oberyn approached a young woman with burn marks and partially healed lacerations on the right side of her body. She was moving about, somewhat well enough to help with the others who were still unwell.

"What happened, girl? What happened at the city?" he asked.

"The demon God from the far east came. He burned the city and consumed the souls of the burnt. He even massacred the royal family. Then the Undead King came for us..." she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Who is this dead king?"

"He is the Stranger…" and with that the girl would say no more. Oberyn asked several more people about this Stranger, but the only reply he would receive was that they longed for death so that they could be with their king. Oberyn had a sick feeling that they didn't mean either Robert or Joffery.

_**Part V**_

That night Tyrion, Oberyn, and his daughters gathered around a simple campfire, away from the prying ears of the rest of the Lannister/Martell encampment. Normally tradition dictated that the nobility would be inside a large, heavily guarded tent rather than around the campfire with the lowborn and the bastards. The Tyrion and the Red Viper wasn't feeling too traditional at the moment.

Tyrion was toying with a strange, golden rod with a red crystal tip.

"Is that golden scepter a Lannister heirloom?"

"No" replied Tyrion. "It was a gift from our generous new overlord. He called it the Aethereal Septer. Don't ask me what it does. I haven't a clue."

"He gave you a scepter? Then what did he give your brother?"

"That hideous black sword on his back. It's tainted his mind and turned him into a monster. So you can see I'm reluctant to use whatever this is."

"The more I hear about this Stranger king the less I want to meet him. I feel cold winds coming from the North..." said Oberyn as he took a deep drink of some wine that one of his daughters had brought him. "I hope he doesn't have any special gifts in store for me."

The Sand Snake that was pouring wine came next to Tyrion and provided him with a cup. He thanked her and took a deep drink of his own. She put the urn away and took a seat on the campfire log next to Tyrion. She scooted in close to the dwarf and Tyrion earned a strange wink from Oberyn. Tyrion took another deep drink, unsettled.

The Warden of the West and the Prince of Dorne enjoyed their Dornish wine and chatted with one another about various matters of the strange, changing world.

"If everything the people say is true, than perhaps the Age of Heroes has come again. This is good. Very good."

"Good?" asked Tyrion, his brow twisting. "Thousands have died, slaughtered by demons and dead men. How is any of this good?"

"Because if it turns out gods are truly amount us, then it's destiny that legendary heroes will rise again. A childish notion? Perhaps. We can only hope for the best."

"All of it's a murmurs jest…" mumbled Tyrion as he finished his current cup of wine. That was the moment when he noticed a foul aftertaste under his tongue and he wasn't alone. Oberyn had noticed as well.

After years of utilizing poisons in combat the Red Viper had learned to identify different poisons by taste. He hadn't noticed the taste in time because it was diluted too much to cause death. However he did feel his body becoming numb.

The two men jumped up and attempted to flee, but it was too late. They collapsed like puppets with their strings cut. The three bastard daughters of Oberyn rose up from their places around the fire and began to gather up the two poisoned men.

At that same moment complacent Lannister soldiers all over Harrenhal were being slaughtered by the covert assassins of Dorne and chaos began to spread throughout the encampments. One of the sand snakes knelt down and hoisted her father up. To her surprise she realized that he was still partially conscious.

"..." Oberyn couldn't speak, but his eyes pleaded for answers.

"The Dwarf has bewitched you. Your brother has sent his men to bring you home. Mother waits for you." she said.

Tyrion felt the heat of the magic that flowed from the ring on his finger. Another of many gifts he had received from the Dark Lord to honor his ascension to the position of Warden of the West. Several silver and gold rings lined his fingers and allegedly provided a wide variety of magical benefits. This particular one was gold and had an emerald gem. It warded off poisons, apparently.

Tyrion played dead while the Sand Snakes were preoccupied with their father. He noted to himself that it was a smart move to drug Oberyn before hand. Rumor had it that he was a stubborn man. If it hadn't been for Jamie's display then Oberyn would've refused Tyrion earlier.

One of the Snakes came close to Tyrion and began to pick him up. He grasped his scepter and rolled around quickly. The warden whacked the Dornish girl upside her head and used the opening to flee into nearby foliage.

As Tyrion was running into cover he could hear them yelling to chase after him. As he dove for cover a broad ax came out of nowhere and crashed into the side of Tyrion's head. The flat of the metal stopped him short and he flew backward into the ground. A large Dornish man with a pole ax came out of the bushes and put his foot on Tyrion's chest. The Sand Snakes gathered around him.

"You don't understand what you're doing! You're killing us all! He will burn the countryside if I fail to bring peace between Dorne, Highgarden, and the North!"

"Lies. Deception. Never trust a Lannister..." spat the big man.

"Good work, Areo." said a Snake.

"Please…" Tyrion pleaded once more as the night air grew cold...

*_**Screeching of the Damned***_

Everyone present threw their hands up to cover their ears. They each turned to face the the source of he horrific noise. It was one of the overseers sent by the Dark Lord. A Dusk Legionnaire.

"The Dark Master will have Order." echoed the ethereal voice of the man in armor of darksteel feathers. It had arrived from its group with the main encampment, drawn by the sounds of commotion.

"Areo!" one of the Sand Snakes called out to the large man. Areo Hotah, a knight of Dorne, turned his ax on the dark warrior. He gave out a great war cry as he raised his ax and brought it down on the shoulder of the soldier. However the blade shattered on contact and the black steel rang like a bell.

The dark creature let out another dreadful screech and clasped its gauntlet around Areo's throat, crushing it. It then used its other hand to tear his head apart from its torso and tossing his corpse to the side.

"Now!" called out one of the three Sand Snakes as they brandished their weapons. One stepped forward with a leather whip and lashed out at the dark warriors left leg, hoping to yank it out of balance. The creature did not move, only screeching in protest. She tried again but with an arm this time while her sister thrust with a spear.

The creature in black armor caught the spear, pulled it from the woman's grip, and broke the pole across her face, knocking her unconscious. It then yanked on the whip and reeled the second daughter of Oberyn in. With inhuman speed it grabbed her by the shoulder and put it's free hand on her face. Dark green light poured from its hand and into her eyes.

"You now serve the Dark Lord." echoed the Dusk Legionnaire. It released her from its grip and she dropped to her hands and knees. "Slay your remaining sisters. Serve the Will of the Dark Lord."

"...Yes master."

"No, no, no, no more slaying! Look, great Legionnaire, let me take these girls into my custody. They'll stand trial later. Does that comply with the Will of the Dark Lord?" said Tyrion as he rose from the ground.

"Lord Saarkiin will have Order." said the dark warrior. "Do as you will, Warden. Call your men and see these dissenters in chains."

"Thank you." Tyrion said, exasperated, while several more Dusk Legionnaires appeared from the darkness. The forces of the Dusk led by Jamie had made quick work of the assassins and rouge soldiers that caused the disruption and had successfully restored order to Harrenhal.

No mortal man, save for maybe Jamie, could compete with the dark legions of Saarkiin. Tyrion shuttered as he and his newly arrived men led two of three Sand Snakes to a prisoners tent. From now on he'll have to stick to tradition and keep bodyguards around and trust the items bestowed to him by the Dark Lord.

"A murmur's jest…" he mumbled.


	10. A Council of Kings

**_**A Council of Kings**_**

Margery Tyrell wandered around the crowded halls of the ruined castle of Harrenhal. As the last living member of the House of Highgarden she had little choice but to act as the Lady of the Reach and accompany Oberyn Martell on his journey northward, heeding the beckons of a strange king.

After a long trek up the Kingsroad the Lannister military escort had rested by the refugee camp at Harrenhal. When the encampment was completely set up for the remnants of the Tyrell army, Margery had found herself alone inside her own tent.

It was a tent for nobility and therefore quite spacious. However, to Margery it felt small, lonely, and empty. Her brother, her father, and her husband had all perished when they had faced down the forces of this "King of Death". She had heard the nightmarish stories of the majestic Tyrell fleet, known for being able to stand up to even the Greyjoy fleet in its prime, torn to shreds by the horrific creatures of the deep.

Margery's grandmother, the woman the people of Highgarden knew as the Queen of Thorns, had died of shock in her old age when the dreadful news had arrived. After her burial Margery had woven a crown of thorny roses and wore it upon her own brow in a show of mourning.

Growing frustrated with the empty silence of the gray tent Margery decided she would ease her own mind by tending to the needs of others. She wandered about the barren walls and streets of Harrenhal and joined the septas, maesters, and Silent Sisters that roamed about the injured, dead, and dying of Kings Landing. They did not speak much but willingly received her aid nonetheless.

Margery knelt down next to a young girl who was helping an injured man with severe burns on his head and left shoulder. The girl herself had cuts and burns on her own arms as well. After speaking with the soft spoken girl Margery had learned that she had been a prostitute working one of the many brothels of the old capitol. The man that she aided had been badly scorched while trying to help the women flee from the burning building.

Margery learned that this man had once been a cruel pirate that had brutalized the women of the brothel alongside his crew. One day the Dark Lady and her dark warriors visited upon the cruel pirate. Then he returned pale as a ghost, alone and covered in ash. He had sold his ship and his cargo and gave it all away to the women of the brothel, only asking for a place to sleep in return.

When the Demon God's dark fires came he was instrumental to helping many of the women escape mostly intact. Those women now aided these other survivors to the best of their abilities. The Tyrell army may have been shattered upon the beaches of the Blackwater Bay but the Reach still had the greatest surplus of agricultural production in Westoros and Margery made sure she brought as much as her people could carry. She had her personal guards distribute the food throughout the survivors encampment.

Later that night she made to return to her tent. She was alone as the few guards she was able to spare she ordered to guard the food wagon that had been given to the survivors from looters. The refugees spoke of a bandit gang that had formed during the war that called themselves the Brotherhood without Banners. They claimed to help those in need but they mainly stole from others to feed their own needs.

She came around to the front of her tent when she suddenly stopped at the site of a mysterious stranger in black armor and a burnt face. However his burns seemed older and Margery somewhat recognized him from tourneys long ago.

"Aren't you Sandor Clegane?" She asked.

" That's right. " he said in a gruff voice. "You can call me the Hound if you like."

" I'd rather call you Ser Clegane. Is that alright? "

"I'm not a knight, but you look like you could use one."

"Then why are you here?" She asked timidly.

"I need a job. The boy threw himself into the Blackwater and I'm tired of working for the fucking Lannisters. If I work for a Tyrell the at least I'll eat well for this winter and I see you're low on guards. So watcha say? You could use a Hound."

"Why would anyone take on a guard that let his last charge die?"

"The bastard had lost his whole family and was plagued by nightmares from the Dark King. He was no more than a ghost when he flew off that cliff. Who was I to stop him? What would you have done? " replied Sandor.

Margery stared at the burnt face of the Hound for a few minutes before finally saying:

"Fine. From now on you guard me. I'll trust you to do your best."

"Thanks, I guess. When do we eat?"

"When do we eat __indeed__." Said a strange but familiar voice from behind Margery. She turned around and looked with shock at who had interrupted. It was her brother, Loras Tyrell. However he was pale. Very pale with two burning red eyes like crimson blood.

"Brother, you're alive!"

"Not exactly, sister. What I mostly am is hungry. I need to feed, me dear old sister. "

"Of course! Come inside and I'll feed both you and Ser Clegane."

"Lady Margery, get behind me... " said Sandor stepping forward. As he did Loras lunged. Two sharp, fang-like teeth lashed out towards Margery's throat. At the last second Sandor threw his chain link covered arm in between her and Loras. Despite the thick leather and chain-mail Loras crushed Sandor's arm with tremendous, inhuman bite force.

The Hound was then able to grapple Loras and lift him into the air. He was very light so Sandor lifted him directly over his head and dropped him down on his knee straight into the center of Loras's back. A ghastly crunch was heard and Sandor tossed the corpse aside.

Margery screamed as the corpse landed into a crumpled pile. With another sickening crunch the body twisted and rose once again, to Sandor and Margery's disgust and horror. Sandor did his best to draw his sword with one hand and stood his ground between his new charge and the Demonic Loras.

Just as the two were about to engage the screams of damned souls bound in dark armor resonated throughout the encampments. Chaos had broken out elsewhere and the Dark Lords legion had mobilized. At the sound of the Dusk Legionaries scream caused Loras frantically dissolved into a swarm of bat-like creatures and flee into the dusky sky leaving behind a confused and disturbed Margery and Sandor. The Hound turned to check if Margery was alright but felt a dizzying fervor fall over him and he dropped to the ground, unconscious.

__**Part II**__

After the chaos of the night had been dealt with the various encampments resumed the match northward. All dissenters against the Dark Lord, the assassins in the Dornish army, had been put in chains or put to death. Tyrion had learned of the attack on Margery Tyrell and the heroism from Sandor Clegane. He meant to reward the Hound for his actions but the old dog had come down with a cold fever.

Margery had pleaded with the maesters to give him medical treatment but none of them recognized the pathogen. Tyrion had then taken the matter to Overseer Fura. Of course the nightly creature knew what was happening.

"Sanguinare Vampiris, also commonly known as Porphyric Hemophilia."

"'More commonly?'" echoed Tyrion.

"It is a curse from a far away land. In three days time he'll be dead. His only hope is Lord Saarkiin. He must be cured or exterminated."

" Margery is quite keen on retaining him in her services. I think he deserves a second chance. "

"Very well, but we will not inconvenience the Dark Lord any further. Lest you lose your status as favorite, Warden." Fura teased venomously.

The military conglomerate marched with haste on the urging of Tyrion and Margery. Within the three days they arrived at the new gates of Winterfell. It had nearly been a year since Tyrion had laid eyes on Winterfell. Now he could barely recognize it. The northern capitol was now surrounded by a gate of strange black steel with uniform spikes that ran across the tops of the walls.

The darksteel walls formed the shape of a six-pointed star around the city. A shape that would force any who laid siege to the city to receive punishment from archers on all sides. It was obvious to Tyrion that no mortal workforce could construct such a monument to Death in only a few months time.

A massive gate at the center of two points in the walls opened up and granted them passage. As they moved through the gate Margery and her escorts were stopped and Sandor Clegane was taken by one of the Dark Lords subordinates, a man named Garen Sadri.

After the exchange the group moved deeper into Winterfell. There was no time allowed for them to rest and set up for an extended stay as Tyrion and the rest of the nobles were taken away to the newly renovated throne room.

The Great Hall was much larger than before and a long wooden table that sat in front of a highly risen throne were the only furniture in the room. Rob Stark, Roose Bolton, and other lords of the North sat at the table, side by side. The throne on a risen staircase behind them was the Iron Throne, excavated from the ashes of Kings Landing. Sitting on it was what appeared to be an intricate statue of a skeleton in dark, hooded armor.

Rob Stark rose from his seat and welcomed his new guest. He introduced himself as the King in the North and beckoned Tyrion, Oberyn, Margery, and other two young men who were already present named Theon and Ramsey to approach. There the five people stood alongside one another before King Rob and his lords.

"Welcome to Winterfell. The First Dominion of the Dragonborn. You have all been brought here today because you are all to be judged by a higher power. His Majesty the King of Death has seen a potential in each and every one of you. The Lord's land is in chaos. Together we can bring peace and prosperity to the new world."

"So that you can rule over it in place of King Robert? Let me guess, this new God gives you the right to rule Westeros through his divine grace? Will you call yourself God-King like the old Ghiscari?" Spat Oberyn. "All the gods are the same. Crafted in the image of man. It was you who burned Kings Landing, wasn't it?! Tell your dwarf to return my daughters so that we may turn away from this farce."

"I shall rule only the North, by decree of Lord Saarkiin. He will rule, as overlord, through each of us." Calmly replied Rob.

"Rule through you, perhaps. Your rule will be no different from the Targaryons. Fire and blood."

_**_**"Indeed, it shall be." **_**_Said a echoing, solemn voice that vibrated throughout the Great Hall. "Unless I have order and __loyalty__."

Oberyn and Margery looked up in shock at the statue on the Iron Throne as it began to move. It had never been a statue to begin with. Tyrion winced audibly as the Dark Lord himself addressed Oberyn personally. It seemed that despite everything Tyrion had said to the prince he had never truly believed him. Or maybe he was too distraught over his captive daughters to think straight.

"According to the information gathered I knew you would need the most...'__convincing'__". Said Saarkiin as he became of the darkness and reappeared in front of the Prince of Dorne. "I am Sahrotalok-Dilon. Saarkiin, Lord of Death and Dragons. I have summoned you here to offer you a gift, as I have done for many others. I have heard of your exploits and prowess across the Narrow Sea. Should you swear loyalty to me than I shall make you King of Dorne and the Summer Isles."

" Why would I serve a monster like you? " said the stubborn man as he backed away in horror of the Dark Lords presence. Tyrion just shook his head in dismay and defeat. "You would have me become a creature like Jaime Lannister? I'd rather die a man!"

" You are the Red Viper. You will live as a viper and die as one. " said the Dark Lord as he opened his left hand. Inside was an old, dry piece of red bark. "This is the bark of the Hist Tree. The flesh of Sithis, Prince of Murder... You will eat it."

"Never!" Said the brave, foolish man to the face of Death. Oberyn stood his ground with nowhere to run. Saarkiin let out a short, bone-chilling laugh.

"I knew the Red Viper would be brazen enough to spit in the face of Death. Just as the Red Eagle who came before you. Very well..." Said Saarkiin, stepping away. "Bring them in."

Two of Saarkiin's Ebonygaurd brought in the three Sand Snakes. Two in chains and one walked freely. He addressed the Sand Snake that was free.

"Obara, kill the short one." On the Dark Lords command Obara pulled a knife from her belt and cut the throat of one of her sisters without a second thought. Oberyn cried out for his daughter to stop, rage and confusion in his voice. Tyrion was stunned but he was not surprised. Margery covered her face and tried not to vomit. Theon was rigid and Ramsey grinned smugly.

"Relent. Death his not the threat that hangs over your head, Viper. Nymeria, rise and be restored. [Resurrection]. " commanded Saarkiin as he waved his glowing hand at the violent scene. Bright light enveloped the body, the blood evaporated, the wound healed, and the youngest of the three Sand Snakes returned to life.

"Submit to my will or they will each die a thousand deaths. "

Oberyn fell to his knees and held out his shaking left hand, reaching for the Bark of the Hist Tree.

"Now, Prince of Dorne, you will take communion with the body and blood of Sithis. Consume, be consumed, and rise in the image of the Daedric Prince."

Oberyn Martell took the old bark and ate it. As he chewed it blood ran from his mouth. After he swallowed he doubled over. His body began to twist and change. His hair fell out and dark red scales formed over his entire body. Horns sprouted from his head and his snout and teeth elongated and sharpened. Finally a long, serpentine tail grew from the base of his spine. When the transformation was completed the Red Viper of Dorne had become a creature known as an Argonian.

"Excellent. The experiment was successful. Now prove yourself worthy of this power, King of Dorne."

" Yes my master. " replied Oberyn in his new, raspy voice. The Dark king became darkness once again and returned to his throne as the newly born Argonian rose to take his place with the others.

"Tyrion, Theon, Ramsey, Oberyn, Margery, and Rob. You have been granted principality over your lands and will now face trial and tribulation to prove yourselves worthy of becoming the Kings and Queens of the Seven Kingdoms. Once my escorts return with the two other candidates for the seventh then this country shall be whole again. You will be my Council of Kings, then we shall turn our hungry eyes elsewhere." Said Saarkiin.

Tyrion, through a series of miraculously impossible events, realized that he had a chance to become a king. He looked towards what had once been Oberyn and his thoughts lingered on what it meant to be king.

_**_**P**_**_**_**art III**_**

Lord Saarkiin sat atop the dark warhorse, Shadowmere. He was positioned on a high hill far south of the Riverlands near the Trident river systems. Next to him was three of the seven people who had been chosen to participate in his Tribunal of Kings. Rob Stark, Theon Greyjoy, and the recently legitimized, bastard-born Ramsey Bolton each sat on their own warhorse and listened intently to the proclamations of their Dark Lord.

Ramsay, a newborn vampire like the rest of those who lived in and around the Dreadfort, had proven himself a capable and earnest spy and interrogator when dealing with the wildlings fleeing southward and learning of the happenings from beyond the wall. His blood-lust and prowess as a hunter had also caught the Dark Lords hollow eye and Saarkiin wanted to see what the boy could be capable of.

"Now my three Sons of the North, prepare yourselves. I have chosen the perfect trial for each of you. I believe that each of you are far more than capable of leading your own armies successfully in battle. However, how skilled are you in maintaining peace and order within your kingdoms?" Asked Saarkiin in his solemn voice.

The three young men looked at each other but only Rob spoke:

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace. Father taught me well what it meant to keep the honor of the people. "

"I'm aware. Then this task shall be a simple chore for you. My subordinates have identified a bandit clan known as the Brotherhood without Banners. They have nested themselves in the area between the Riverlands and the ruins of Kings Landing. They are a cancer on my new empire. Destroy them..."

"By your command!" Replied each of them. Saarkiin raised his hand high and a blood red glow leaped from his bony, armored palm and into the night sky.

_**_**"[Bloodmoon of Hircine]!**_**_"

The full moon that hung in the night air became awash with blood, turning it a deep crimson. Many of the lords of the North and their first born sons had gathered around the base of the hill as well. On behest of Saarkiin, Rob and each Lord of the North received the gift of the beast's blood. Now, under Hircine's bloodmoon, every werebeast in Westeros would transform instantly and flock to their Lord and Master's side. Only Rob, protected by the power of the Ring of Hircine, was still in human form.

Greywind, Rob's great direwolf, let out a howl to the bloodmoon and the dozen or so werewolves followed suit. Even Ramsey's new pet deathhounds joined in. Rob, Ramsey, and Theon each drew their fantastical, new weapons that had been provided for them. Rob had a dragonbone sword, Ramsey had a daedric bow, and Theon wielded a strange, oily black saber.

"We begin the hunt tonight. Do not let the ancient lust of your blood be denied. Now, my creatures of the night, take flight and let all who defy my will tremble in your wake. Bring me the mauled corpses of of the Lord of Light's servants: Beric Dondarian, Thoros of Myr, and his wretched, banner-less brotherhood. " declared Saarkiin as he drew the Bloodskaal Blade and pointed it forward. There was a mighty war-cry from the three young men as they spurred their horses onward. They took off to the hunt with their "bloodhounds" leading the charge.

**_**Part IV**_**

Serana and a small caravan made there way across the Dothraki Sea and towards the ancient city of Mereen. Several emissaries from the Dark Lord had been sent on a mission several months prior to seek out the rumors of the Dragon Queen. Serena had chosen to meet up with the missionaries to take her own mind off of recent events. Saarkiin had protested but eventually relented.

Now the troop, led by Serana's newest thrall Milisandre, drew closer to the old Ghiscari city. According to the rumor mill of Volantis the Dragon Queen had caused a slave revolt in the bay area and had gathered for herself an army of elite slave soldiers known as the Unsullied. She has since begun a campaign to take the city of Mereen and to free the slaves confined within.

"Wow. Such a bleeding heart she has..." said Serana to herself as she learned of the Dragon Queens campaign. She cracked a soft smile as she was reminded of the man she had originally fallen in love with, Okeer of the North. He too had a bleeding heart for those who were more worse off in society.

However, all slave trade had come to a halt and the Greyjoy ships were barred from the ports of Slavers Bay. The man her husband had become no longer had a heart that longed to alleviate the suffering of others and she had to be his conscience.

__Saarkiin isn't going to be very happy about this, __thought Serana. Slaves were vital to maintaining the inner machinations of Castle Volkihar and Saarkiin would be furious.

Later that evening the troop in dark or crimson hoods that protected them from the harsh sunlight arrived at the outskirts of the Targaryen encampment of elite slave-soldiers. They were met by hostile and aggressive guards. However one look into Serana's seductive, vampiric eyes wrapped their mortal minds around her fingers like the strings of puppets. They gladly escorted her and her troop to the tent where the Dragon Queen resided.

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen sat alone and naked in a tub of hot water. She looked down at the steaming water and racked her brain on how she would be able to successfully seize this city. She had hoped to win over any sell-swords to her side but the three major sell-sword companies had been hired by Braavos on the other side of Westoros.

Rumors of turmoil within the Seven Kingdoms had given the Iron Bank of Braavos the inclination that their debts would not be paid in full. So they had hired a massive army of sellswords to seize Westorsi lands as collateral. Dany had sent a message to the secret city in order to obtain their support for when the time came that she herself would turn her eyes towards taking back her homeland.

Daenerys eventually rose from the scalding waters and made to grab her nightgown. As she did she heard a voice speak up from behind.

"My my, isn't this a pleasant surprise..." Said the voice of a woman. Dany quickly turned around to see a woman with crimson eyes and a black, hooded robe. She was sizing Dany up and licking her red lips, sharp fangs showing. "I didn't expect the Mother of Dragons to be so...young."

Dany wanted to scream for her guards but another voice from the entrance of the tent caught her attention.

"Do not be frightened, my queen." Said a woman in a crimson cloak with eyes of the same shade. "I am the former Red Priestess, Milisandre of Ashai. This is Serana, Queen of the Night, Daughter of Coldharbour, and Mistress to Death Himself. We come peacefully. "

Dany turned towards Serena. She was prepared to run but instead gathered her courage to speak. If these two women had been assassins that could so easily slip past her guards then she should already be dead. So the least she could do is hear these people out.

"Very well. I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First men, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, and the Breaker of Chains. " she said proudly to the strangers. "Pray tell, what is your business with me at this late of hour?"

"Oh my." Said Serana, lighting up. "You're most definitely a Dragonborn with the way you rail off those titles of yours."

" Dragon what? "

"A Dragonborn. My husband, the __Father__ of Dragons, demands your presence in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Father? My dragons are the only living dragons in the world and I am their mother. There was no, or ever was a father. " said Dany defiantly, angry that some one would dare steal one of her titles. "I shall return to the Seven Kingdoms in due course. Then I will take my rightful place on the Iron Throne as queen. Go and tell your usurper that I am coming. Kings Landing will be mine! "

"Kings Landing no longer exists ." Interjected Milisandre. "Neither will you or your slave army should you continue to defy the will of the Dark Lord. Come with us and prove yourself worthy of His Majesty. Then he shall make you a true queen."

"I am already a queen and I will not leave until I have taken this city and freed each and every slave. Unless you can aid my cause then I suggest you leave now and never return."

"Oh, you want this city? Is that all? I guess I've got a few hours until the sun rises. I'll be right back." Said Serana as her form dissolved into bats and flew out of the tent, startling Daenerys and leaving her speechless.

Serana, as a swarm of dark bats, fluttered throughout the city. She swarmed around any poor passerby that wasn't one of Daenerys' precious slaves and drained them dry. Slaver and slave owner died side by side as the night drew on and the streets quite literally ran with blood.

When Serana had gotten her fill of blood she began to grab men with noble clothing and dragging them high up into the air. She would then drop them onto the sides of the Pyramids and watch them roll all the way to the ground. After an hour the main pyramid at the center of the city was painted red, looking an even deeper shade of crimson as the morning sun rose in the distance.

After the defenses and men who would openly defy Daenerys' rule were dealt with Serana returned to the tent where a terrified, pale woman awaited.

"My __queen,__ the city is yours." Serana said sarcastically as she bowed before Daenerys.

**_**Part V**_**

The Brotherhood without Banners had come across a small refugee camp hidden in the woods North of the God's Eye, a lake with a small island at its center. The rouge organization had quickly closed in on the small group. Luckily they did not move with violence in mind.

Beric Dondarian strove to keep the rough men in his service in line and did his best to prevent unnecessary violence and criminal intent. However his men needed to eat, they needed shelter to sleep, and they had other needs as well.

The Brotherhood had come together in the early days of the War to uphold the ideals of peace and justice where kings and lords had refused to do so. However, according to the rumors, a new king had arrived. __A dark king__. The war had come to a hiatus, the chaos and confusion had died down, and Beric's men had grown sour.

The Lightning Lord had come to realize that he and his dear friend, Thoros of Myr, could no longer control the Brotherhood without Banners. Some time ago Thoros had become greatly ill and spoke of terrible nightmares about his God suffering at the hands of that mysterious and frightful king. A king who's name was Death.

Thoros had gotten better over time but he warned Beric that he may not be able to resurrect him anymore. Beric had died at the hands of the Mountain That Rides several times and the Lord of Light had pulled him from the abyss each time. While he could still call fire to his blade it seemed that Beric was well out of lives to live.

Without the fallback of the Lord of Lights Grace, Beric felt hesitant to confront and reprimand his men for their behavior. It had began with stealing food from refugees, then it had escalated to occasional gang rapes and borderline enslavement of peasants to bolster their numbers. This camp would only be the next in line of many victims to come.

Beric and Thoros walked through the camp and prayed that they would not have to bear witness to any more violence. Fortunately many of the people sat slightly together around the various campfires. Unfortunately the tension between the brotherhood and the refugees was thick in the air and at any moment a spark could ignite the fuel.

Then it happened... Beric heard the cry of men coming into conflict with one another. The two men ran to the edge of a camp to find an unfamiliar boy with a bronze bullhead helmet fending off several members of the brotherhood with his smith's hammer. The boy had cuts and bruises but he held his ground nonetheless.

The boy stood between three other men and a woman. One of the men wore a stained, yellow cloak, one looked fairly normal, and the last was short and had a bloody mouth full of grotesque, manually sharpened teeth. The man with gnarled teeth lunged to take a chunk out of the boy. The boy in the bronze helm sidestepped and dashed the inhuman creature in the mouth with his hammer and knocked out several teeth.

The other two men laughed at the misfortune of their comrade, who they called Biter. Beric saw that the woman was missing a chunk of her flesh from her left arm, clearly taken by the biter. Without further hesitation Beric and Thoros jumped in between the boy and his men.

"Leave these poor people be. That's an order! " commanded Beric, drawing his blade. The three men laughed.

"Oi! Isn't it the old Lightning Lord! Come to join in on the fun?" Asked the man in the yellow cloak.

" You've already had your fun. Return to the camp at once! " demanded Beric.

"The fun's just startn'" said the man in yellow, stepping forward with his own blade drawn. " There's been talk that you can't do that revival trick anymore. I reckon I'm going kill ya for good this time and take over this whole outfit. Been talkin' it over with the boys. We were going to all jump ya later but I guess now is as good as any. "

"So be it..." Said Beric as his sword became engulfed in flames. The others present were taken aback but stood their ground. Each man prepared to rush one another when they were stopped by a deep growl coming from the darkness behind them.

The man in yellow turned around to see his two men being held by a great, gray beast with a silver ring on its claw. It held their crushed heads in each of its great, bloody claws. It twisted its wrist and their decapitated corpses fell to the earth. The silver ring on its claw glowed and the beast changed into the form of a nude man.

"Is that the fookin' King n' the North?" said the man in a yellow cloak.

"You'd better start running..." Said the naked beast-man, glaring at them with yellow eyes. "This won't be any fun if you just stand their frozen in your own piss."

The man then began twisting into a beast once more and let out a gruesome roar. Several other roars could be heard in the distance. The survivors turn and fled for their lives and the great beast in shadows began their pursuit... __The Hunt__ had begun.


	11. The Cold and Damned

_**The Cold and Damned**_

Gendry froze in fear as the bandit leader and his men fled from the beast that had emerged into the fray. However, and to his surprise, the beast ran past the shaking boy and pursued the man with the fiery sword. After several moments the young blacksmith in the bronze helm composed himself, remembering the girl who had been bitten by the crazed man earlier. He turned to help her up but noticed that her wound was still bleeding profusely. He tore a portion of his shirt off and tied it around the bite and helped the sobbing peasant girl to her feet.

The two made to run back towards the refugee camp but quickly saw that it was overrun by the man-beast and other strange, black dogs. Men, women, and children were being slaughtered and devoured by wretched monsters from beyond their world. Gendry griped his hammer and tightened his helm. He had to save as many people as could. The young blacksmith turned to the woman that he was with and and yelled at her to run. Gendry watched her run towards the forest that led to the God's Eye when a long, black thing shaped like a serpent reached across the night sky and wrapped around her waist. She screamed as it drug her deep beyond the treeline.

Gendry was stunned as he watched a lone man walk towards him from where the girl had just been. He was a young man around Gendry's own age with brown, curly hair and a smug, half-cocked grin on his face. His right arm was covered in writhing tendrils and grotesque, yellow eyes that formed and dissipated at the same time on its surface. In his hand was a black scimitar that dripped with a greenish black oil.

"Aren't you going to run?" asked the man.

"What the hell is wrong with your arm?!" said Gendry as he slowly backed away.

"My name is Theon Greyjoy and this...Oh this is the power bestowed on me by the Drowned God, his majesty Saarkiin. Want to see something amazing?"

"No, not really..."

Theon's arm and sword twisted into a single, gigantic tentacle and he lashed out with it like it was a whip. It crashed into Gendry's head. His bronze bullhead helm was split into two and his ears rung like bells, but he was still alive.

"Get up, fool. I'm not done with you."

Gendry slowly rose to his feet with his hammer gripped tightly. Blood ran from a cut in his forehead and into his eyes. Theon raised the twisting arm high into the air and swung once again. This time Gendry rolled to the side and barely dodged it. Theon lost his smirk and swung again and again. The great, hulking tendril was just slow enough for Gendry to dodge as he rolled closer and closer.

Theon swung vertically and Gendry dodged it one last time by dropping to a knee. Theon lost his balance with the wide swing and Gendry saw his opening. He pushed off his knee and tackled head first into the Greyjoy boy. The black scimitar was dropped and the tendrils disappeared. Gendry straddled Theon, pining him to the ground. He raised his hammer high and prepared to bring it down on the ironborn with all of his might.

A black, twin barbed arrow erupted from the back of Gendry's neck. Blood flowed down his chest and onto Theon's and his corpse fell forward. Theon rolled the large boy off of him and got to his feet while cursing.

"Tsk, tsk, Theon. Almost bested by the blacksmith. Even with the power granted to you by the Dark Lord." said the one whom had fired the arrow.

"Shut it, Ramsay! I was doing just fine without you." spat Theon, picking up his sword known as the Blade of Hermaes Mora.

"The hunt isn't over, Theon. Don't disappoint His Majesty anymore."

"I said shut it!" said Theon swinging his tendril blade. Ramsay Bolton exploded into bats and flew into the night air.

"You'll have to do better than that, little Theon. Come now, the night is young and the hunt continues. Let's have some fun!" .Theon grumbled at the bats as they laughed at him and followed them towards the carnage that continued in the campsite, still eager to please the Dark Lord and prove himself worthy enough to be King of the Iron Islands.

_**Part II**_

The night was black and red as Beric Dondarian fled through the unwelcoming forest, away from the beast that came in the cover of darkness and had driven the brotherhood to their doom. As far as Beric could tell each and every man had been ridden down and slaughtered, including his dear friend Thoros. They were naught but prey to be devoured by these foul things that had been brought forth by the King in the North.

Twigs and limbs poked an prodded the Lightning Lord has he ran faster and faster through the foliage. After the many, many times that the Lord of Light had brought Beric back to the realm of the living he had become numb to the notion of emotions like the fear of death. Without the lingering warmth of the Lord of Light in his heart and the sight of the great wolves that laid pursuit the overwhelming fear of dying came rushing back to him like black waters through a floodgate.

Beric dug his heels into moist ground as he came to a grinding halt. Black water crashed against the shore before him and ending his path to safety as he realized he had come to the very edge of the lake known as the God's Eye. He could see the tiny island in the distance that rested at the center of the lake from which it drew its name sake. Beric gripped his sword and the flames came to it once more, weak and cold like a fading ember, and turned to face the pack of beasts that ceased their pursuit around the shoreline as well.

The largest of the man-wolves with a silver ring, the King in the North, lumbered towards the lone soldier that held his ground. The monster snarled and gripped the soft earth in its claws as it prepared to lunge forward and take its cornered prey. Beric thought about turning and running towards the waters and taking his chance with the God's Eye. He knew he would likely drown due to the weight of his gear, so if his final death would come this day then so be it. Beric raised his flaming sword and squeezed both hands tight around the grip, prepared for a final struggle against the darkness, but the Darkness spoke first:

_**"Halt... I wish the converse with the chosen of the Aedra." **_a solemn voice echoed through the night air. The beast tensed up and began to back away from Beric. From the shadows of the treeline a figure atop a red-eyed horse came forth. A man in dark, hooded armor and a skullface came to a stop before the trembling Lightning Lord.

Fear gripped Beric's throat yet again and he was able to barely speak. "Who are you?"

"That is unimportant to you, mortal. Invoke the image of your god and send him a message." said the skull-faced man as the dead lights of his eyes became intense. "R'hollr, Divine of Light, fire demon from the east, I hereby banish you from this new world of mine. You and your chosen are no longer welcome in these lands. You are no longer worshiped. You are no longer _needed. **Begone.**_"

Beric didn't know how to respond to this...thing nor did he understand what it meant. As he searched for the words he felt his chest and his breath getting hotter and before too long his whole body felt like it would burst into flames. His skin began to dry and crackle and another presences began to burn into his mind. R'hollr took control and replied for him.

"You _monster! _You've ruined _everything._ The Enemy marches on this world and I am now too weak to fend him off. The pieces were all set in place ready to play out as I had designed. But you...You! You just came in and slapped the board to the ground and proclaimed yourself victorious. You've doomed us all to an endless winter. Endless Death. Maybe that is what you want, wretched dead thing!" spat the Lord of Light, throwing Beric's arms around with literal fire coming from his mouth and burning away his lips. The pain was unspeakable but Beric could not move or protest. The presence of R'hollr was destroying Beric but he was no longer in control. He was left to only watch and suffer.

"You speak of the undead from beyond the Wall, yes?"

Beric felt his face twist in surprise. In his mind he could feel the Lord of Light rail through question after question but he did not speak.

"I presume you are referring to the Draugr Death Overlord that leads a sizable army of the undead southward. A trifling matter, really. The situation is being dealt with as we speak. Should the shields of men fall I shall deal with the draugr and his army myself. I am the one and only Lord of Death. This 'Night King' the wildlings tell my sources about will bow before his rightful king or I will destroy him as I have many of his kind before."

"I believe you..." said the Lord of Light with a deep sigh. "Who are you, really? Why are you doing this? How?"

_"_Because I am powerful. _Because I can."_

"It was my destiny to defeat the Great Other, give unto mankind the Prince that was Promised, and to establish myself as the dominate deity and rule over the mortal realm. Now I must start anew with thousands of years lost. Ghiscar, Valyria, Westoros...all wasted for not."

"I met my destiny long ago and pried myself from the cold grip of its black jaws. I do not desire the long winter or the death of mankind. My empire shall not be one of ash nor corpses. I am an emperor and I will fulfill my purpose as one."

"The light will die under your shadow. So shall everything else. Without me the days will end and the Long Night will surely come. You know nothing."

"I know more than you realize. I said that you are not _needed_. Look at me, Aedra. I am the Lord of Light now. The light will grow and so will my shadow across the land. The Day is mine." said the man in dark armor as he raised his right hand towards Beric. It began to glow. "Crawl back to your hole in the Shadow Lands of the east and bide your time. Perhaps you shall one day emerge as a worthy opponent."

"Without me the world of men will die!"

"_**I **_decide what lives and what dies. [Meridia's Beacon]" and with the command of magic a ray of light shot forth from the dark kings hand and struck Beric in the chest. Within seconds the Lightning Lord was consumed in light and disintegrated into ash.

_**Part III**_

Nearly a year had past since Jon Snow had his fateful encounter with the army of the dead. That rumbling voice from on high had delivered the legion of dead things into the service of the young man of the Night's Watch. Jon had chosen not to return to the Night's Watch for he felt that he could not be accepted by his fellow comrades if he was being followed by a legion of damned souls. Therefore he had chosen instead to attempt to isolate himself in the forest near the Fist of the First Men.

Jon experimented with issuing commands to the new undead followers. He discovered that the wights could follow basic combat commands and simple tasks. However he couldn't get them to do more complex things like ride a horse or repair their weapons.

After some time with the horde he decided to command the undead to throw themselves off a cliff. The undead obliged willingly but the fall into icy snow did little to slow down their conviction towards their new master. One by one they found their way back to Jon's side.

Jon and his unwanted legion of the dead did not go unnoticed for long. He had chosen to live in a cave with a hot spring within. He ordered his soldiers to stay outside and hurt no one. Day in and day out he and his direwolf, Ghost, hunted and gathered for resources while considering what to do with these loyal wights. He had come to the conclusion that he should burn them all while he can. Yet before he could he was distracted by thoughts of using his legion to strengthen the defense of the Wall against the ever growing wildling threat.

It seemed that the wildings had also noticed Jon. Soon he didn't have to hunt for his food as he noticed food and mead being left outside his cave as a sort of tribute. Eventually he was able to catch the wildlings outside of the cave and confronted them. It was the redhead he had captured and set free led by several others. At the sight of Jon they bowed and offered gifts to him.

When he questioned the girl he learned that she had hid behind a boulder and had witness the booming voice of a god give Jon command over the dead. The girl, who Jon learned was named Ygritt, had spun the tale to the rest of the wildling hordes and a sort of legend had began to grow around Jon.

They had dubbed him the Snow King and their legend stated that it was by his command that the dead were kept in check. They saw him as a demigod and many of the wildlings secretly wanted to follow the idea of Jon as the Snow King rather than the southerner Mance Rayner.

Ygritt begged and pleaded with Jon to come with her to the gigantic wildling encampment and challenge Mance for the title of King-beyond-the-Wall. Of course Jon declined each petition stating that he was a loyal man of the Night's Watch and that he will burn the dead that follow him and get back to his duties. He even had to use the daily power of his amulet of Talos several times to make her stop coming to him. So when she came again he new something was terribly amiss.

Just as Mance Rayner's army was gearing up to move on and begin their assault on the Wall the army of the dead reappeared. Reluctantly Jon marched his wights down to the encampment and temporarily joined their ranks to defend the realms of the living.

_**Part IV**_

The wildings were, needlessly to say, astonished by the arrival of their legendary "Snow King" and his legion of wights. He met with Mance Rayner and, though the two did not see eye to eye, they reluctantly chose to work together. Jon could somehow command the dead and a skill like that could prove invaluable in the fight against them.

Despite the agreement to work together Jon and Mance's trust was thin and icy. The wildlings only followed the strong, and only those who can touch the world beyond strength could command the dead to fight. So naturally many of the wildings began to fall behind Jon, his protest to being the Snow King falling on deaf ears.

As his following grew a cult began to grow in his name with the redheaded girl Ygritt acting as a sort of priestess to it. She followed him around more than Ghost did as a pup. This made Jon uncomfortable but he found the girl to be quite attractive so his disdain was weak at best.

According to the reports from Mance's scouts the dead had taken many settlements, including Hardhome, and it would be at least a week before the dead arrived. Mance himself wanted to flee and Jon firmly agreed, saying they should fall back to the Wall and help defend it from the army of the dead. On that part the two fundamentally disagreed. However the wildlings, especially after growing accustomed to Jon's wights, wanted to stay and fight to the bitter end.

On the third day Jon and Ygritt joined the scouts to check out the approaching army once again. To Jon's dismay he saw that the army of the dead numbered in the hundreds of thousands. An endless sea of death sweeping over the frozen land towards the last bastion of the living beyond the Wall. Mance's army was sizable, but the undead were a numerous and unknown enemy of terrifying proportions.

On the fourth night Jon sat in his personal tent provided by his wildling followers and considered his options. He thought of ordering his undead to stay put while he ran away back to the Wall while leaving the wildlings to fend for themselves. Then he considered using his alleged position as "Snow King" to demand a retreat to the Wall and deal with Mance later. However the only thing that got accomplished that night was when Ygritt sneaked into Jon's tent and taught him how to be a man.

The next morning Jon, filled with new conviction, was determined to aid the "Freefolk" however he could. The army of the dead was vast and his legion was only a handful. But the wildling army was bolstered enough to make a heroic stand and have a chance of getting out on top while seizing the day. He attempted to train them but to no avail. They were all just too wild and fought each other more than they were worried about the oncoming threat. At least they had a few giants and mammoths.

As night fell on the sixth day Jon sat around a campfire and fell into despair. He looked around at the wild, fussing, and fighting men and women around him and realized that by the end of the next night he and all the rest of them would be dead. His own dead had been ordered to stand guard around his tent to await his return. Deified, Jon did not fear for his own safety around the wildlings anymore.

A large, redheaded man drinking entirely too much fermented goats milk from a horn was getting rowdy around Jon. He pointed towards him and yelled:

"Ah, here he is, lads! The God of Snow himself! The Snow Crow King! Snow Crow King!" he began to chant.

"Stop it! I'm not a king and I'm definitely not a god. I'm just a man, same as you. But what's coming down the mountains aren't men. We went up there and seen them for ourselves. I have a set of my own waiting for me and I have no idea how. I don't know what I'm doing. Not one bit. None of you, none of us, are prepared for what comes at sunset tomorrow."

"You are our Snow King, Jon." said Ygritt who was sitting by his side. "The army of the dead will follow your command. I just know it. You already tell dead things what to do. I've seen you do it as have many others."

"You know nothing, Ygritt." replied Jon. "I just don't know how! There is no guarantee it will happen again. We should've fallen back to the Wall by now."

"Are you also King Crow? King of the Wall?"

"No. I'm not in charge at Castle Black..."

"Then we'll die, caught between the Wall and the dead." said Ygritt, taking Jon's hand and getting one her knees in front of him. He was taken aback for the Freefolk rarely knelt. "Jon, you're our Snow King. Our only hope. I know you can stop the army of death."

"There's nothing I can do to stop them."

"Perhaps there is..." said a strange, hollow, yet familiar voice. From the croud of now silent wildlings a newcomer emerged. A tall man with an exotic set of full plate armor covering him from head to toe. On his back was a greatsword that Jon had seen many, many times as a young man growing up in Winterfell. It was the legendary Valyrian steel sword, Ice.

"W-who are you?"

"I'm no one important, Jon. I come bearing message and tidings from Lord Saarkiin."

"You mean old Master Black Oak? What does the old man-at-arms of Winterfell want so badly to send a messenger this far north?" asked a very confused Jon.

"Lord Saarkiin is currently the sitting King of the Seven Kingdoms. My master wishes to reestablish each kingdom with a new fiefdom and you have been chosen a candidate to become a new Storm King. When you are finished here you will attend to the king and begin your trials."

_"...The King of Snows and Storms.." _whispered Ygritt staring up at Jon with newfound astonishment.

"I cannot accept. I am a man of the Night's Watch. I swore and oath to take no lands and father no children."

"His Majesty understands your position. He also implores that you abide by his commands and respect his wishes or their will be consequences. Until then, a gift. An investment towards your future endeavors." said the strange man in armor as he pulled out a long object wrapped in leather and handed it to Jon.

"What is it?" If it was a gift from the old master than he most likely had anomalous properties.

"A weapon crafted for the purpose of razing and reaping undead abominations. A weapon of mass destruction when employed against an army of death. Yet before you can wield it you must be found worthy. His Majesty would be delighted if this works for you." said the man as he pulled out another spherical object. He bent the knee before Jon and offered it to him. Hesitantly, and with the silent eyes of each and every wildling on him, he reached out and took the object into his hands. As soon as he did a voice shouted out into his mind.

_**New Hands have touched My Beacon!**_

_**Part V**_

Morning finally came and the Bloodmoon summoned by Saarkiin fell beyond the horizon. The Dark Lord ordered Ramsay, Rob, and Theon to charge any survivors of the Hunt with treason for their association with the Brotherhood Without Banners and have them put in chains. Saarkiin knew that the refugees here were most likely innocent, but the supply of fresh meat from Slavers Bay had come to an end. The fate of the survivors would be the dungeons of Castle Volkihar.

According to messages received from ravens and various other fowl suggested that Serana had made contact with the last Targaryen and her three dragons. Relations between the two seemed to be going smoothly but the young Dragon Queen had a staunch disapproval over the concept of slavery. He had remembered Serana had once mused that she herself would be against the immoral practice if she had still been human. However the condition of vampirism demanded the need for a constant supply of fresh blood. For now it would have to come from the condemned rather than the forsaken.

In due time Saarkiin's hunting party returned to the newly forged darksteel walls of Winterfell. All bowed deeply in respect to the Dark Lord as he and the three northern kings entered and made their way through the city and towards the keep. There at the entrance they were met by the two eldest Starks that had been left behind, Brandon and Sansa. They dropped to their knee before the Dark Lord and said:

"Welcome home, Your Majesty. Winterfell is yours."

"Thank you for holding it, young ones. Now you two, run along and enjoy your youth. As for everyone else, rest up. Take the day for yourselves and tonight I shall hold court for the future."

Everyone nodded and bowed and went about their business. Saarkiin himself made his way to the Iron Throne and sat upon it in deep contemplation as he awaited for the night to come...

...That night the six of the Seven Monarchs, their retainers, and their closest delegates gathered in the keep that currently served as a makeshift throne room of Winterfell to hold court with Saarkiin. The Dark Lord sat up from his Iron Throne and addressed the court.

"My Lords and Ladies, I welcome you on this cold night. It is my displeasure to inform everyone present that we are currently at war on multiple fronts. It seems that I have yet to establish the fear and respect that a being such as myself is rightly due. However, it is of no matter. The time will come when those who oppose are crushed by my very own hand. For now I seek to teach those who will follow in my line what it means to rule. This is your King's Trial. You will teach them fear, inspire their loyalty, and give them hope. In return you shall receive their love." with is proclamation Saarkiin stood.

"Theon Greyjoy. Tyrion Lannister. Come forth..."

These two kings stepped forward and took a knee before Saarkiin to hear his ruling.

"The western coast has been seized by a rogue Greyjoy fleet. A man by the name of Victarion has taken the area around Casterly Rock and most of the coastline. According to my intelligence he proclaims to be a profit of the 'true Drowned God' and has started a crusade against my forces. The Greyjoy fleet under Yara's command is stretched thin and cannot handle the situation on her own. You two shall go there and assist her in retaking the Westerlands. Tyrion is the senior and will take charge of the campaign."

"It shall be done, Your Majesty..." said Tyrion bowing deeply while holding himself up with the Aetherial Scepter and Theon echoed the notion.

"Do not disappoint me again, Theon." said the Dark Lord, glaring. Theon trembled but said nothing. They both returned to their positions. After a few moments Saarkiin called out to another set of monarchs.

"Margery Tyrell, Oberyn Martell, step forward..." the red, reptilian Oberyn obliged without hesitation and took a knee. Margery, however, was timid and hesitant to come forward but did so anyways. Slowly she, too, took a knee before the Dark Lord.

"You two shall ride for your respective homelands. House Martell and the stewards of Highgarden have refused to yield to my demands and instead they have aligned themselves with the Iron Bank of Braavos. According to Tyrion, those who previously ruled this land had incurred a substantial debt against the Braavosi and now they have sent several sellsword companies to collect. The two of you shall make the realms of the south stand down and rejoin the fold. If you fail to do so then there will be dire consequences for the people you rule. We cannot afford to lose Highgarden, but I will not hesitate to make an example of Dorne."

"It shall be done, Your Majesty." said the Red Viper confidently.

"A-as y-you command, Y-your Majesty." replied Margery meekly. The two returned to the lineup.

"Finally, Rob Stark. Ramsay Bolton. Come forward." the two stepped up and quickly took a knee, as if it were a competition. They were both eyeing each other in their peripherals. "My two most powerful kings. The King In the North and the King of Rivers, you shall both take your troops to the Wall and reinforce the Night's Watch at Castle Black. Once you arrive stand by until you receive further orders. _No _infighting. Once I attend to several other matters I will ride northward and join you."

"As you command, Your Majesty."

Saarkiin barked a few more orders here and there to cover the logistics of ruling Winterfell and then dismissed the court. As they began to file out of the keep Saarkiin said one more thing:

"Margery, may I speak to you privately."

"Y-yes, Your Majesty." she said, her face turning pale. Saarkiin stepped down from the risen throne and approached the young girl. She averted her eyes and bowed her head. Saarkiin reached out with his armored hand and put a finger under her chin, lifting it gently.

"I am sorry, Margery. It was by my order that your House was destroyed. They knew not their folly and were doing what they thought was best for the kingdom. From what I heard of Renly, he would have made for a passionate king, and you would have been a loving queen. Yet love and passion are not enough to rule. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive my wife and I for taking your family away from you." said Saarkiin, solemnly. Margery was rendered speechless by the idea that something like the Dark Lord would seek to receive an apology, especially from her.

"I have something to show you. If I had a beating heart then it would be heavy to do this to you. Yet it needs to be done and you are the one who needs to do it. Clegane, come in."

Sandor Clegane came into the keep wearing a type of new black armor and dragging something in chains. Astonishingly Margery did not recognize the Hound at first. The burn scars on the side of his face were healed completely and the hair had grown back. A new fire burned in his eyes as he threw the thing in chains forward. It was her brother.

Loras Tyrell was barely recognizable as well. His face was twisted and gaunt and his skin was deathly gray. His hair was falling out and his hands looked like claws. Two stumpy, wing-like vestiges were protruding out of his back. With inhuman speed he shot up and lunged at Margery causing her to fall backwards. Saarkiin caught her and set her upright, keeping his hand on her shoulder.

"What is he?"

"A Vampire Lord, or at least a faux simile of one. He was created on accident by something far too powerful for him to endure. He is now a feral beast with no recollection of his former life. Now, more than ever, Loras needs your mercy. It must be you that gives the word. Sandor is ready." Saarkiin said as the Hound handed the chains to him and drew his sword. A long, silver greatsword provided by the Dark Lord.

Margery knelt down to look what had once been her brother directly in his eyes.

"Oh, Loras, my sweet brother...What have they done to you...?"

"It's time, M'lady." said Sandor. As he did Saarkiin pulled the chain tightly and put his foot on his back, forcing his head down and exposing the back of his neck.

"The longer you wait the more he suffers."

Margery rose to her feet. She looked to Sandor, then to Saarkiin. The Dark Lord bowed his skull apologetically and she made her decision.

"Do it." In a flash of light Sandor swung the silver sword and took off Loras' head. The wretched sight of what had been her brother collapsed into ashes. A single tear ran down her face. Before it could fall Saarkiin caught it with a finger.

"Shed no tears for the damned, for they are beyond saving. Instead, I shall grant you the power to save thousands of lives." he said as he took her hand. As he let go a staff that looked like a single, giant rose was left in her grip. "A gift left behind by my queen. Serana wanted me to give it to you. A final apology for what she did to your brother. Behold, Sanguine's Rose. With this, O Queen of Thorns, your rule over the Reach will be absolute."

_**Ahhh...**_

"What is this thing?" she asked as a voice ringed in her head.

"A Daedric Artifact..." said Saarkiin as he returned to his throne. "You see, my dear, I am from another world. In that world the realms of mortals were superseded by demon gods known as Daedric Princes. Until recently I was their master. When I came to this world I thought I had lost them, yet through trial and error I have discovered that they are still with me. At least in some capacity. An aspect of each of the higher daedra resides inside the seventeen Daedric Artifacts and only the Chosen can call upon them. Embrace the Staff of Sanguine, Prince of Debauchery, and tell me if you hear his voice."

Margery clasped both hands on the rose and opened her mind to it. A velvet voice spoke out to her in response.

_**Oh my. Such a beautiful young girl. O Mistress of the Rose, what sweet music we will make together. **_

"I hear the voice of a man." she relayed to Saarkiin.

"Good. Good...Take care of my old friend, Sanguine, and he will serve you well."

_**Oh please...Call me Sam. **_


	12. The World Eater

_**The World Eater**_

Jon Snow had no idea where he was. Below him, far below him, he could see the wildlings in the encampment scurrying about like crazed ants. They had undoubtedly been driven to hysteria when Jon had placed his hand on the strange, geometrical shape the armored man had produced. After touching this... beacon Jon found himself quickly rushing upwards into the sky.

The young man of the Night's Watch now found himself floating in the thin, cold air of the far north. Jon had grown used to the idea of such heights when he was routinely stationed at the top of the Wall, but this situation was entirely different. For instance their was no solid ground or ice below his feet as he was suspended freely into the air. Vertigo began to set in and Jon felt like passing out.

Before Jon could pass out, however, he was blinded by a magnificent light. A great, florescent ball appeared before the frightened boy. As Jon covered his eyes the great light spoke out to him.

_**"Ah, so these are the hands that have taken ahold of my Beacon. They are young, strong, and tainted..." **_

"Can I please be returned to the ground? I think I'm going to be ill." pleaded Jon as he began to grow dizzy.

_**"Be silent! Wretched Dragonborn, do not think I have forgotten what you did to me. Do not think I have forgiven what you have become."**_

"I...What?"

_**"Do not play the fool. You, my precious Champion, joined the ranks of the vile undead before sealing me away inside of my own instrument of salvation. Locked away from my precious Plain of Oblivion. Unforgivable!" **_

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're on about! Please put me down!" said Jon as he began to struggle.

_**"Hm. Perhaps you're not the Dragonborn I know. The Dark Lord does not ask. He demands, like a child of want. Yet I can still taste the taint of the undead upon you. You have been touched by the Dark Lord's influence." **_

"Well. You're right about that I suppose. I don't know who this dark lord is but I heard a voice call out to me and now the wights follow me around. I promise I have no idea why and I would very much like for it to stop."

_**"Do you hate the undead? Do you desire to fight for the living?" **_

Jon knew that he did hate the wights and he knew what is duties were. So the only thing that came to mind was his vow.

" 'I am the Shield that guards the Realms of Men'"

_**"A quaint motto, and it is clear to me that you are ready to give your life for it. Stendar would've been swayed. He was decent for an Aedra. But I shall require more from you. Are you prepared to be my Champion? To rid the world of the cursed undead?"**_

"Night falls, and now my watch begins." Jon said, unable to think of a better reply.

_**"Indeed it does. Be wary, my new Champion; This path will lead you towards confrontation with the Dark Lord himself. We cannot rest until the world is free of the walking dead. Swear yourself to me and the light shall be yours to command."**_

"I swear, by the old gods and the new."

_**"I am the only god you need swear upon. I am Meridia, Daedric Prince of the Dawn. Now, my new Champion I bestow upon you the mighty sword Dawnbreaker. May it serve you well in the war for the dawn." **_

And with that Jon was sent plummeting towards the ground. He landed in the soft snow, sending the cold ice in all directions and surprising the wildlings. In his hands was the object wrapped in black leather. The leather began to boil and burn away as a magnificent, glowing short sword was revealed underneath. As Jon held it upward the light radiated outwards and illuminated the surrounding area. The armored man approached and dropped to one knee before Jon. Much to Jon's surprise thousands of wildlings, including the King-beyond-the-Wall Mance Rayner who had come to check on the commotion, knelt down on both knees around him.

"Your Grace," said the familiar sounding man in armor. "You are now prepared to do battle with the Night King. We are at your command, King-beyond-the-Wall"

"I don't want it..." whispered Jon as the divine blade began to burn in his hand.

_**Part II**_

Victarion Greyjoy had just defeated the Iron Fleet with an Iron Fleet of his own. The gray, grizzled man and priest of the Downed God had taken Yara Greyjoy and her men hostage and his fleet was closing in on the Lannister home capitol known as Casterly Rock. He had expected a greater resistance for the Iron Fleet and this false Drowned God, but it had apparently all been hot water. Now he and his revers were in their longboats and were landing on the rocky shores of the city.

The ironborn rushed the walls of the castle under fire from arrows and quickly threw up iron hooks onto the ramparts. The men began climbing up against the protest of Lannister soldiers who rained arrows, boiling oil, and rocks on the salty assailants. However the Ironborn were too fast and in moments they scaled the walls and slaughtered the defenders. Many men told of the prowess of the red and black soldiers of the Lannister army and how formidable they were, especially after being emboldened under a false god. Yet these men were being cut down without mercy. Victarion knew it was because the ironborn were simply that much more stronger than any in-lander.

They cut through men left and right as they stormed the entirety of the castle. It seemed that there were only soldiers present inside the castle which dishearten Victarian and his men. They had hoped to plunder and rape the rich men and women that lived in such a fine establishment. The old ironborn mused that the noncombatants had been evacuated out of the castle and into the rest of the city. Now that he had the castle his remaining men on the ships would make their way to the main gates and light fires, preventing the people from escaping to nearby Lannisport. Then they could have their fill of rape and murder.

The Lannister men ran cowardly from the true ironborn. Victarian called out for his men to slay every last one of them so therefore they chased the men in red and black armor into the central plaza of the castle. The Lannisters stopped dead in their tracks and turned on the ironborn. They threw up their shields and held their ground. The ironborn prepared to rush the defensive when they were stopped by the sound of slamming doors all around. All was quiet for a moment when the sound of clapping could be heard from the upper walkway above the plaza.

"Bravo, Victarian Greyjoy. You are the very first Iron Islander to ever take Casterly Rock. You should be proud." said a small man in golden armor.

It was Tyrion Lannister, who now wore a custom fitted set of Dwarven armor without the helmet. Instead a golden crown with lion motifs rested on his brow.

"What is the meaning of this?!" yelled out Victarian. The ironborn began to grow restless as the Lannisters pushed them back into the walls.

"Exactly what you think it is. You've taken the castle, because I have allowed you to. My father would be appalled that I sacrificed soldiers and let mongrels run amuck in his precious castle. But its mine now and I've set the perfect trap. I'll give you one chance. Only one. Bend the knee to me and I'll send half of you to the Nights Watch and put the rest of you in Lannister armor, or die a horribly painful death. Please tell me to go fuck myself. I really would like to know if this will work or not."

"Go fuck yourself, Lannister cunt!" cried out Victarian. "We have hostages back on our ships. We found several Lannisters aboard my nieces ship. We were going to keep them for ransom."

"Undoubtedly working with Yara in service to the Dark Lord. His Majesty would be greatly displeased if he completely lost his fleet. That's why we sent Theon and an army of sea monsters to take your fleet to replace the one he lost. So it looks like you're all out of leverage. How unfortunate. How about you tell me to go fuck myself again?"

"Go fuck yourself, Lannister pig!"

"Well, I tried to persuade you. My conscience is clear, for the most part. I've put this off for far too long." said Tyrion as he raised a golden rod known as the Aethereum Scepter, the Dwarven artifact that had been custom made by Saarkiin and empowered beyond its normal capacity. He pointed it forward and a bolt shot out of the scepter and hit the ground in front of the ironborn in between them and the Lannister men. An ethereal portal opened inside the ground and a massive, golden golem rose upward. "Behold, the Forgemaster."

Victarian was frozen in place as the golden beast loomed overhead. It raised its right arm which had a large hammer instead of a hand and dropped it on top of Victarian, obliterating his skull and sending gore flying. His men turned to run but their was nowhere to go. They clawed at the shut doors as the Forgemaster opened the front of its hot, golden body. Fiery, burning hot steam shot out of its torso and engulfed the remaining ironborn, literally melting the unfortunate men to the floor of the plaza.

Tyrion's stomach flipped upside down as he watched the site. This was his first time using the scepter in combat and he was astonished by its power as it killed a hundred men in an instant. Once the sickness faded away, however, he began to feel powerful. Finally Tyrion understood how his brother had felt.

_**Part III**_

Several months had passed since Serana had taken the ancient Ghiscari city for Daenerys. Shortly after securing the city, Dany had commanded her Unsullied troops to take the corpses of the fallen slavers and crucify them. She had thought that the message against human bondage would've been more widely received if she had nailed them up while still alive, but the macabre display served its purpose nonetheless.

Now the city of Meereen was under Daenerys Targaryen's absolute control, with the Dark Lady overseeing the city-state as an overlord. Dany, experiencing the night powers wielded by Serana first hand, had graciously offered the city to her. Yet Serana had insisted that Dany become the cities queen as it would be a "great learning experience" for the young girl. The young Targaryen would retain her regal status in exchange for cooperation and obedience.

At first Daenerys' fear had quickly devolved into anger as she began to resent Serana for overseeing her day to day activities as queen. The Dark Lady was always present at courtly hearings Dany would hold with the newly established leaders of the cities citizenship. However Serana remained a silent judge of Dany's performance. After noticing Dany's silent disdain for her presence Serana had decided to corner the young girl in conversation and learn her life story. That's how the adventurer named Okeer had broken the ice with Serana so long ago, so maybe it could to some good here.

While thier relationship towards one another was tense at first, Serana had grown fond of the young Targaryen girl and quickly started to open up to her. After she learned of everything the girl had been through she slowly began to see Daenerys as a younger version of herself. She had been sold off to a warchief the same way Serana had been given to the Daedric Prince, Molag Bal. Through her experiences she had gain power and became the Mother of Dragons, much like Serana herself had become a Daughter of Coldharbor. While Daenerys had her dragons and Serana had sired several vampires neither would ever again be a true mother to their own children.

Serana was even reminded of Saarkiin with the way the girl took to the act of ruling over others with such passion. Truly her disposition was worthy of being a Dragonborn, even though Serana wasn't so sure of Daenerys' status as one yet. Eventually Serana even began to treat the girl more like a daughter rather than an asset to be studied, despite herself and her cold disposition. Likewise Daenerys, after their interactions and coming to a mutual understanding, began to receive Serana's motherly attention and listened to the advice she had to give on the subject of being a proper queen.

Therefore Serana took up the prospect of teaching Dany queencraft and the way Serana advised her made her a respect her even more. Dany had never had any parents of any kind to look up to or to learn from. The only one she ever had was her older brother, Viserys. However he had always had a terrible, abusive temper. Even though she loved her brother she could no longer see herself looking up to him as any kind of role model.

Serana did not lord over or command Dany on how to rule her city. Instead she had spent countless hours and day after day telling Dany the long story on how she had become the Daugther of Coldharbor, met her husband, and became the Empress of and entire continent. Had the silver-haired girl not bore witness to the powers the Dark Lady commanded than Dany wouldn't have been able to believe these fantastic tales. Yet she listened and loved every second of the stories relayed, especially the Legend of the Dragonborn. It made her feel like a little girl again listening to fairy tales in the house with a red door.

Lesson's and anecdotes on queenship were not the only things Dany got from Serana. The Night Queen had noticed a potential for magic coming from deep within the young girl that flowed into her from her dragons. She discovered that the three young, growing dragons were profusely expelling massive amounts of magicka into the surrounding atmosphere. With the absence of atmospheric magic the magicka that surrounded the four of them quickly spread out into the rest of the world.

Serana noted that this would probably result in widespread side effects throughout the rest of the world. She herself had also noticed that as she remained in proximity of Daenerys and her dragons her own magicka started to rapidly replenish. It would seem that in this world magic was directly linked to the presence of living dragons, something that could easily be handled by Saarkiin now that his Thu'um had returned to him. Should dragon souls be found alongside dragon bones then the Dark Lord could shout the creatures back to life and distribute more magic throughout the world. She sent a message with a bat to her husband to inform him on the situation and then returned her attention to the dragon girl.

Something as precious as her and her dragons would need to be able to defend themselves without the need of an army to do so. Now Serana, Daenerys, Jorah, a slave girl Dany had taken a liking to named Missandei, and her Unsullied guards all gathered around a bare fighting arena that had been known as the Blood Pits. Dany had seen the practice of making slaves and prisoners fight to the death for entertainment to be barbaric and had outlawed the sport. While her husband had spent much time in the Arena and would allow such a thing, Serana herself thought it was uncivilized. Blood sports were usually practiced by the lesser vampires and vain mortals, so therefore she didn't care either way and sided with Dany to make things easier.

Their reason for coming to the Blood Pits was so that Serana could see for herself what potential for magical power that Daenerys might have. During their time together Serana had taught Dany about various types and applications of magic from her previous world. With the plethora of magicka flowing from the young queen and her dragons it would seem those practices of old would find a new place in this new world.

They stood apart from one another and faced each other down from opposite ends of the Blood Pits. Serana had given keen instructions to the young dragon queen about the use of a simple flame spell, going so far as to provide her with a copy of the spell book. Surprisingly enough the book did not disintegrate after she had read it so Serana couldn't be sure if the information had stuck with the young girl. Henceforth the practical testing was necessary.

Dany's dragons sailed through the air overhead. They, too, had been cautious of Serana at first, like a lesser predator shying away in the presence of the regional apex. In the passing months the dragons had grown exponentially larger yet they remained weary of the vampire queen. Serana had learned a rudimentary version of the dragon language from Saarkiin and was able to calm the creatures by speaking to their greater instincts and soothing their fiery souls. She hadn't been sure if she could speak to the dragons of this world but in the end she has succeeded and in doing so garnered even greater trust from their mother.

"Remember, just like we discussed." said Serana addressing her pupil. "Hold your hand out in front of you and envision the fire."

Dany raised her right hand and pointed it directly at Serana. In her minds eye she envisioned a flame just like the one her little dragons had used in the House of the Undying and Astapor. In a few seconds her right hand was engulfed in a magical flame.

"Like this?" she asked

"Yes! Very good." praised Serana. "Now show me what you got?"

"Won't you be hurt. You told me your kind doesn't do well with fire."

"Neither does yours, with you being the only exception." In Tamriel the Dark Elves had been the only race with an inherent resistance to fire, an enchantment given to them by a wretched Daedra. It would appear that Daenerys was under a similar enchantment. Therefore she had theorized that Dany would perhaps excel at pyromancy in a similar fashion to a Dunmer. "Go ahead. Let her rip. I can take it, I promise."

Dany focused the magic to her hand and attempted to spout the flames forth. However nothing happened and the fire dimmed.

"Don't be scared. Didn't you tell me fire cannot harm a dragon? It's not likely you'll burn yourself."

"I'm not scared! I'm just..." she trailed off. Earlier in the week she had practiced in her own quarters with the small flame in her hand and had accidentally sat fire to her room. Several servants had gotten burned attempting to put the fire out and she was hesitant to hurt someone again.

"Don't worry too much about it. An old man once told me that 'words have power'. Think of a word that will clear your mind of any doubts and try again."

"Okay..." Dany said, thinking. She new a word that always made her feel more powerful and focused when she said it. She waited for her dragons to sail out of sight, pointed her hand forward again, and said: "Dracarys."

Like a fountain the flames spilled forth and towards Serana. A golden crown with a sapphire gemstone that rested on Serana's head began to glow and the fire converted back into magicka and was absorbed.

"Bravo! I knew you could do it." said Serana clapping. "Next I think we'll skip to [Fire Ball] and in no time I'll have you casting [Firestorm]. I'll make a Dragonborn out of you yet."

"I did it! I really am the Mother of Dragons!" she exclaimed.

"Don't let it go to your head just yet. Your ego is big enough as it is, my queen." Serana teased walking up to Dany and reaching out to pat her on the shoulder. Without warning Dany lurched forward and embraced Serana in her excitement. This was the first time in centuries that Serana had received such a warm embrace from someone. Of course she hugged Saarkiin on occasion but a girl couldn't get much from hugging a cold, dead skeleton.

"Are you okay?" asked Serana as she noticed that the young girl was beginning to shed tears into her bosom.

"I've never had a mother..." she said as she began to sob. There was no one present that would shame Dany for showing a weakness for emotion so she simply let go after to excitement of casting her first spell. Serana realized that she herself had never had a true daughter. The Daedric Prince Molag Bal had taken from her any chance to have one, and until now it had never affected her. If she could cry then there was as strong possibility that she would have as she returned Daenerys' embrace.

"I can never be a mother." she said

"In that we have in common."

"I can't be your mother. But I am a queen and I can teach you everything I know and prepare you for the future. I think your are going to make an excellent Storm Queen." and with that said Dany pushed Serana away.

"I'm not going to be the Storm Queen. I'm going to be _the _Queen. It is my right to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not just one Kingdom."

"Not this again..." said Serana exasperatedly. Even after all this time Dany had refused to back down from the idea of her becoming the queen of the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. With her charisma, her army, and her dragons she could by all means take the kingdoms without much of a struggle. However an impassible wall that was Serana's husband stood in Dany's way. Without even getting up from his throne Saarkiin could crush the Unsullied, enslave the minds of her dragons, and have Daenerys in chains before the sun sat under the horizon. Serana, seeing Dany as a valuable asset had chosen to try to persuade the young girl rather than see her as a threat. Now she had foolishly become attached.

"I'm not going to change my mind. The Iron Throne is mine by birth right. It is my destiny."

"Please don't bring up destiny in front of my husband. He'll rant about it until the cows come home." Serana said pinching the bridge of her nose as she could already see the all-powerful oaf throwing his arms up and going on a tangent about fate and destiny. Daenerys opened her mouth to speak once more when the two women noticed a former slave ran up and whispered something in Missandei's ear. The dark-skinned girl approached the two and said:

"My queen,...and my queen. It would seem that a former slave known as Cleon the Butcher has taken over Astapor. He has joined forces with the Wise Masters of Yunkai and both an army comparable in size to the Unsullied as well as an armada of ships are en route to Meereen."

Serana furrowed her brow and looked at Dany.

"Did you fill the power vacuum after you sacked Astapor?" she asked.

"Power what?"

"Sweetheart" Serana said as she put her hands on Dany's shoulders. "when you sack a city-state or a country you have to put a loyal vassal in charge or a dictator will take it and inevitably rebel against you."

"Oh...I didn't think..."

"Dany, as soon as this war is over I'm starting your regal lessons in earnest."

_**Part IV**_

To the far, far east deep within the shadowlands a demon walked the earth. A foul, wretched thing of fire and brimstone with a body of both man and dragon. It limped through the black sands of a dark desert towards a great wall of sandstone that separated the regions. Beyond the great wall was an endless sea of shadows were no light could penetrate.

The demon knelt before the wall and said:

"Oh great Destroyer, I plead for your aid. Darkness has fallen on my land and I fear that I am not strong enough to face it. Please grant me some more of your strength."

A massive silhouette began to move about in the haze beyond the wall. A head that was larger than a small castle descended from the blacken sky and came to a rest before the kneeling demon. Two great, red orbs glared downward at the cowering imp.

_**"Why do you grovel before me once again, R'hollr. Do you bring me the offering of souls that I required of all gods of this world."**_

"Oh great Lord of Destruction I implore you. An enemy far greater than I, the old ones, and the many-faced-one has besieged the realms of men. If you would only grant me a portion of your strength than I could defeat him and reclaim my rightful place as Lord of Light."

_**"Do not make demands of me, half-breed. If you do not bring me the souls that I require than begone. I hunger and you along with the rest of this world look as ripened fruit to me."**_

"I promise, O Lord, that I shall give to you all the souls of the world if you grant me my wish."

_**"Hm. Perhaps... First, has the Targaryen girl received my children? Do the young ones fare well?"**_

"Uh, yes she has, Great Lord. They are growing quite hardy and will aid me in my quest against the Great Other and his Night King."

_**"Excellent. Now tell me of this thing that has one of my most powerful gods running in such fear. I am intrigued." **_

"He is a wretched dead thing from the far west that walks among the living who serve me. He proclaims himself to be the Dark Lord and he is a formidable foe. I was unprepared to face him and I paid dearly for it. I will not lose again!" said the demon as he put his fist into the black sands.

**"The Dark Lord!" **grumbled the great, black silhouette. _**"Tell me his name!"**_

R'hollr, taken aback by the sudden outburst of the gigantic black figure, stumbled onto the name of his new enemy.

"He...he called himself Saarkiin..."

_**"Sahrotalok!" **_roared the shifting darkness and the red orbs began to glow like fire. **_"So my little brother has found his way home. How... delightful." _**

"B...brother?" said R'hollr, falling into despair.

_**"For over ten-thousand years I have waited for this day. I shall deal with this myself." **_

"But my Lord. You don't have to. Grant me the power and I'll end him myself."

_**"A half-breed demon-god like you could never hope to defeat the Dovahkiin. In fact, I believe you have long outlived your usefulness." **_

"B..but my Lor-" R'hollr, the former and great Lord of Light, was cut off as a massive tail as thick as the Wall of ice slammed down upon the kneeling demon-god.

_**"At long last I shall have my vengeance..." **_said the silhouette of shadows as two ungodly wings stretched outward for the first time in centuries. **_"But first I believe I must pay a visit to my children." _**


	13. Hearthfire

_**Hearthfire**_

_A lone traveler trudged through the wild blizzard towards a lone house that lay deep within the forest near Falkreath. He was a large man wrapped in furs from head to toe to block out the dire cold and was laden heavy with equipment. Upon arriving at the entrance of the house he forced the door open against the deadly wind and stepped inside, dropping the equipment on the floor with a loud thunk. _

_ Inside the sizable house he was greeted by the warmth of the hearthfire and a stout woman who was waiting by an empty table. _

_ "My Thane, you have returned! How was your journey?" she asked as she jumped up to gather the man's discarded gear. He pulled the furs from around his head and neck to reveal his mane of dark hair and braided beard. His eyes were as dark as his hair and set deep within his sockets giving them a shadowed look about them. The eyes themselves burned like fire. _

_ "It was...interesting. The College is...well it's fine now. Being the Arch-Mage is mostly all perks but they always come running to me when things go sour." He said as he recollected the events of the past six months. "I guess it wasn't all bad. I met an amazing person and I can't stop thinking about her."_

_ "That's wonderful m'lord. The children could use a mother."_

_ "Ah..um...yes, how are the little rascals doing? Oh and do be careful with that bag. It contains a third of all the power in the universe."_

_ "Surely you jest, m'lord?" asked the woman as she stared timidly at the bag she has just picked up. The dark Nord simply stared at her, unwavering. "...I-I'll put it in the basement with the other artifacts. Your wards down there will keep it safe." _

_ "Don't you want to know what they are?"_

_ "No I don't, m'lord."_

_ "It's three Elder Scrolls. A lot of falmer had to die for me to get my hands on those puppies." the man said smugly._

_ "I said...nevermind." said the woman as her eyes widened and her face drained of blood. "W-why don't you go check on your children? It's been half a year since they've seen their father."_

_ "Ah. Of course. Thank you Lydia." said the man. "And do be careful with my belongings, for your own safety."_

_ "Of course, Lord Okeer. I am sworn to carry your burdens, no matter how magical or dangerous..."_

_ As Lydia carefully carried the outrageous package down towards the basement that held a magnificent store of legendary artifacts and weapons that would drive any scholar mad, Okeer ascended the staircase towards his daughter's shared room. He slowly opened the door to their room and peaked inside. Laying on the floor between two small beds was a shaggy, old dog. It looked up from its rug and let out a small growl. _

_ "Shh Meeko." whispered Okeer as he put up his finger to his lips. He had hope to not awaken his daughters but it was too late._

_ "Papa?" asked one of the girls as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. As she did the other girl awoken as well._

_ "Hey girls, I'm home now." he said with a warm smile, and a solemn voice._

_ "Papa!" cried out the other girl. The two girls shot up from their beds and charged their adoptive father, latching onto his legs in a warm embrace. The three stood there in silence, enjoying the familial moment together. _

_ "Papa! Papa! Tell us all about your adventure!" cried one of the girls. _

_ "No child. The hour is very late. Sleep for now and I'll tell you in the morning."_

_ "Please papa." pleaded the other. "Lydia made us go to bed early so we aren't tired."_

_ "Well...alright" Said Okeer as he scratched the fur behind Meeko's ears. "Climb back into bed, Lucia, Sofie, and I'll tell you all about how I saved the world...twice...within six months." _

_ "Yay!" the both exclaimed as the raced back under their bed sheets._

_ And so Okeer recollected on how he defeated Alduin and Lord Harkon and brought balance back to the land of Skyrim. The girls where enthralled by Okeer's recollection of the Forgotten Vale and Soverngarde. However something else about Okeer's tale caught their attention._

_ "Serana sounds like a really nice lady. Is she going to be our new Mama one day?" asked Sofie._

_ "Ah..I-I um...don't know sweetheart. Perhaps, but it's unlikely. She said she had to deal with some family business after our conflict with her father. I do not know if I'll ever get to see her again."_

_ "Do you want to see here again?" asked Lucia. Okeer did not answer. _

_ "So you defeated a vampire and a dragon?" asked Sofie, changing the subject._

_ "I've killed countless vampires and dragons, child."_

_ "Wow! Papa's so strong. He'll beat both the Stormcloaks and the Empire and become High King of Skyrim!" _

_ "Papa's more than that, Sofie." interjected Lucia, crossing her arms. "One day, he'll rule the world!" Okeer let out a deep laugh as the two girls giggled along with him. _

_ "Alright girls, that's enough. If I keep you two up any longer Lydia will scold me. Time for bed." Said Okeer as he patted each of them on the head and told them good night, despite their protest to remain awake longer. _

_**Part II**_

_ For over ten years the civil war for Skyrim had raged. In that time the Nord named Okeer had come into conflict with the Daedric Prince Molag Bal and had been transformed something that was feared by all that lived. The Dark Lord, Sahrotalok-Dilon, Saarkiin, has risen to power and struck a deadly bargain with the usurper Ulfric Stormcloak. _

_ Under the dark guidance of the chosen undead, Ulfric had lead a courageous charge against the Empire's base of operations in Skyrim, the city of Solitude. The Stormcloaks and the dark legions of Saarkiin had stormed the city and dismantled the stronghold of General Tullius. Saarkiin, under the guise of his former self, Okeer, had executed the imperial general himself and handed the city over to Ulfric. While the daft lord was celebrating his unearned victory Saarkiin left the city, leaving two trusted troops behind. _

_ His daughters, Lucia and Sofia, had grown up to follow in their father's footsteps. When they came of age they had begged the man they had known as Okeer for the opportunity to attend the College of Winterhold. Okeer, after some prodding from his dear friend Serana, had allowed the girls to attend classes at his college. _

_ Sofia had not be very talented at offensive magic. She flinched at the use of Destruction magic but her prowess in Alteration, Illusion, and Restoration was unmatched. Her defensive capabilities and utility put her at the top of her class, to the ire of her classmates. _

_ Lucia had be the polar opposite. Quickly she had taken to the destructive capabilities of Destruction and Conjuration. Fire, ice, and lightning bent to her will as well as atronachs, dremora and the undead. She could raise armies and rain down Hell as well as her own beloved father. _

_ Together Lucia and Sofia made for an unstoppable duo. The former man known as Okeer had been very proud, both as Arch-Mage, and as a father. The bond between the three of them had run so deep that they did not hesitate to follow their father into the darkness after his...transformation. _

_ As the Dark Lord Saarkiin assembled his army of death the two girls became valuable commanders and assets to the machinations of the Skeleton Lord. Serana personally sired them into vampirism at their request and took after them like a mother. In her eyes it was the least she could do for Saarkiin in exchange for everything that he had done for her. _

_ During the Civil War for the future of Skyrim Sofia had used her status as a Nord and citizen of Windhelm to earn the trust of Jarl Ulfric. She found her way to his inner circle, and to his bed chambers. She use Illusion and Alteration to twist Ulfric's mind and wrap him around her finger, like the strings of a puppet. On the behest of the Dark Lord she would pull said strings and lead Ulfric down the desired path. Now her own machinations had come to fruition and she would unfold the great designs of her beloved father. _

_ Under the cover of night she poisoned the high officers and guards of Ulfric's army as they drank and celebrated their victory over Solitude. As the guards slept off their drinks after the celebrations she opened the gates. Her sister, Lucia, marched an army of undead straight into the heart of the city and purged it. As the bloody sun rose over the horizon the Dark Lord himself entered the smoldering city of silence. The two girls bowed deeply before the sight of the dreadful figure and said in unison: _

_ "Father, the city, and all of Skyrim, is yours."_

_ **"Indeed..."** replied the solemn voice. The pale, dead lights of his eyes became more intense than ever._

_**Part III**_

Saarkiin sat upon his Iron Throne deep within Winterfell and observed the two young girls that stood before him, Arya and Sansa Stark. The two Stark girls had been pleading with the Dark Lord to share with them the secrets of magic and the arts of war. It seemed that the two of the wished to become of some use just as Rob and Theon were. All Saarkiin could see, however, were his own two daughters from long ago.

Lucia and Sofia had been taken from him in the war against the Daedric Princes, though he had told the people of Tamriel that they were mortal and had gone with the passage of time. When they had been lost Saarkiin had thanked the stars that he was a undead by the likes of a Skeleton Lord. In this condition his emotions had been in check and he was able to focus on finishing the Daedric War and bring peace to the land. Otherwise he would have torn Nirn apart in his grief.

Of course Okeer, who lay somewhere deep inside Saarkiin's soul, wept for them for decades. However that was long ago and he held no attachments to these two girls beyond a passing curiosity. They would become adults soon enough and therefore would need to make more of themselves beyond being noble broodmares.

"Very well. You two will receive training from my servants, but in exchange I require a task of you. After your skills have been honed you will travel to the Secret City of Braavos and pay a visit to the House of Black and White. I have a need to learn about this 'Many-faced God'. Learn all you can and return to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Then you will need aid on your journey. You will be investigating the existence of a god, therefore you will need the protection of one. I shall send with you the Daedric Prince of night and thievery, Nocturnal. Hold out your hands." The two girls quickly held out their bare hands towards the dark lord. Darkness formed inside their eager palms and the shadows took the forms to two separate artifacts. In Sansa's hand was the Gray Cowl while the Skeleton Key formed in Arya's.

"A fox mask and a key?" questioned Arya as she examined her artifact.

"These are the Daedric artifacts of Nocturnal, the Night Mistress. Do you hear her soft voice? Listen closely."

The girls listened to their items arbitrarily. A quiet voice spoke out.

_It has been so long since I have been with my chosen. Where is the third? There must be a third._

"She's asking for a third?" said Sansa in reply to Saarkiin.

"A third? This is unexpected. She has already chosen you two as her Nightingales. Then as fate would demand there shall be a third. Stop your eaves dropping and get in here boy!" commanded Saarkiin as the doors of the great hall were thrown open on their own. Standing behind the doorway was a terrified Brandon Stark, the blood draining from his pale face. "Ignorant, clumsy Bran. Approach."

Bran reluctantly walked towards the throne, his knees nearly buckling under his own weight. He came to a stop right behind his sisters who had gotten to their feet. They gawked at their brother and Sansa began to scold Bran for his disrespect. The three became silent when the dark lord rose from his throne.

"Brandon, I do not have a treasure suitable for you yet. However you have been chosen not only by fate, but by the Mother of Night herself. Bow." The three children once again bowed before Saarkiin as he stepped down from the risen Iron Throne.

"Sansa, Brandon, Arya. You three are now Nightingales, warriors bound to the will of Nocturnal. This is one of the highest honors I can bestow upon my subjects. Do you accept?"

"I do." said Arya.

"I do." said Sansa.

"I.." stumbled Bran. "I do."

"Brandon, you came to this place of your own volition, did you not?"

"Yes I did. I wanted to follow my sisters. I overheard them speaking about their plan to meet with you. I wanted to come, too. To be like Rob and Theon. But I was..." he trailed off.

"Afraid? It is alright, boy. I am the visage of fear personified. Your sisters are filled with fear as well despite their bravery , such is the natural state of a mortal in my presence."

"Our lord saved us from the hell on Earth that was King's Landing. He crushed the Lannisters and protected the North. He's scary looking but our family owns him everything. Don't be scared Bran." said Sansa, placing a warm hand on her brothers shoulder.

"He saved me too. If not for you, Winterfell's Master-at-arms old Black Oak, I would be dead. Or worse a cripple." said Bran rising to meet Saarkiin's terrifying gaze with confidence. "I accept!"

The dead lights of the dark lord's eyes became more intense as the specter inspected his new Nightingales. As of this moment his current Nightingales would be degrading into ash, their contract with their mistress fulfilled. Fortunately they had been recalled to Castle Volkihar and their gear would be gathered and returned to their replacements.

"Good...good." said the dark lord. "Go now and prepare for your journey to Braavos. Enjoy your last few nights of childhood, Nightingales."

"Yes your Majesty!" they exclaimed before running out the door hand in hand. Saarkiin returned to his seat, amused. _They will need years of training, but they are fresh. Serana will be pleased. _

_**Part IV**_

Saarkiin remained on his throne for several hours contemplating his position of power in the new world. Messages from around the continent and beyond had come to him rapidly as he continued his statue-like mediation. King Tyrion's and King Theon's forces had successfully retaken the Westerlands and regained control over the Greyjoy fleet. _They each may have had their slipups, but they had proven themselves worthy enough to soon receive their Daedric artifacts as well. _

The Dark Lord had kept reservations for Theon and Tyrion as he was not sure that they could handle true power just yet. However he had tested them by giving them each the Aethereal Scepter and Miirak's sword, respectively.

Another message had come in from Serana from across the Narrow Sea. Serana had informed him that she had made contact with the Dragon Queen in the east. Daenerys Targaryen had amassed an army of former slaves, sacked one city and conquered another. After learning of the tale the dark lord was fondly reminded of his life as Okeer once again. He had lived out his youth as a slave as well. Young Okeer would often hear of stories about heroes that came to free the slaves, yet one never came for him. His hero had been the imperial guard that upheld his right to buy his own freedom from the high elves.

Saarkiin had been well pleased to hear of the exploits of this "Mother of Dragons" and had chosen her to compete with another for the right to be the finale monarch of the Seven Kingdoms. More importantly Saarkiin was interested in her dragons. He had felt their hearts beating once they had reached a certain age and had been fascinated with the sensation. Dragons are immortal creatures that will only die when purposefully killed by another. They live in a constant state of life and death, as dictated by the owner of their soul. Should one know the words and own the soul then they could shout the dragons back to life indefinitely. With such long and indecisive lifespans it was necessarily a rare sight to behold an infantile dragon.

Serana's message had also stated that her vicinity near the dragons had increased the replenishment rate of her magicka. That had been great news but in her message she also asked if he could resurrect the dragons of this world. A great deal of many ancient dragon bones had been excavated from the ruins of King's Landing. Yet they were blacken things unfamiliar to Saarkiin and their souls were nowhere to be found. He had already retrieved and resurrected the bones of his old companion, Odahviing the Red Dragon of Dragonsreach. Odahviing seemed to not have to same ability to replenish magicka to his surroundings like dragons of this world.

And finally her message had ended with news of an approaching army preparing to attack Daenerys' city. Saarkiin was not concerned, however. They had three dragons, an army of their own, and Serana wielding his ultimate weapon. At her side was the god-slaying blade of the dead, Nox Mortem. In her hands it was just as deadly. He would take no chances this time.

The rest of the messages on dark wings confirmed the arrival of King Rob and King Ramsay at the Wall and updates from the fleet. Just as the sun began to set a shadow appeared before Saarkiin and bowed deeply and in disgrace.

"What is it, Feran?"

"My deepest apologize, my lord. It would seem that Margery's and Oberyn's forces have been defeated. They have both survived the conflict and the remainder of their forces are a fortnight away from Harrenhal..." Feran Sadri began to trail off as the shadows began to darken around the dark lord.

**"What treachery is this?" **replied Saarkiin.

"It would appear that sellswords had been smuggled into Westeros by a pirate-lord named Salladhor Saan. They were able to flank the Reach's forces and overtake them. Casualties were extremely high for our side."

"Then it was my forces that failed, not Margery and Oberyn. Are they injured?"

"Their artifacts protected them. They should be fine."

Saarkiin became quiet for a moment. He knew he had been right to bestow them their artifacts early as he had done with Rob and Ramsay. However his eyes and ears all across Westeros had failed him and his reach had come up short. Anger began to swell inside him. Weak mortals still oppose him and make a mockery of his power despite his earlier display.

**"Fine" **said the Dark Lord as he rose from his Iron Throne of Ash. **"I'll do it myself."**

"Shall I inform the Kings at the Wall of your late arrival?"

**"This won't take long..." **Saarkiin said as he became enveloped in darkness before disappearing.

_**Part V**_

Oberyn Martell and Margery Tyrell marched desperately on horseback at the head of their desolate army. They rode together on the same horse that had been one of the few that had survived the battle. It had been weeks since that fateful battle and the two monarchs were exhausted beyond their limits. The food and water had run out days ago and hunger had slowed their march down to a crawl.

Margery was clutching the staff known as Sanguine's Rose in a vice like-grip. She had grown close to the spirit she called Sam that dwelt within the staff. As a queen appointed by the dark lord himself she had insisted, against Oberyn's protest, that she ride at the forefront of their army alongside himself. That had been a foolish idea for a noble girl with no combat experience whatsoever, yet it had been a fruitful experience.

During the battle the spirit, or maybe a demon, had come forth from the staff and protected the girl. It slaughtered just as many foes as the few servants of Saarkiin that had come with them while boasting about it's enemies being no match at all. Even Oberyn had discovered in his newfound form that he was stronger, faster, and more skilled with a spear than he had been before.

In fact, Oberyn had learned to appreciate his new body and find some moniker of comfort in his situation. The ails of age and a long life of a warrior had been wiped clean and he had been able to fight better than he had in even his younger years. Yet it had not been enough as the sellswords kept rushing in the thousands. The Red Viper of Dorne had no choice but to gather up Margery and make haste for the Twins and Riverrun.

Oberyn was wearing a crimson cloak with the sigil of the Sunspear on it. On his head and magically hiding his true appearance was none other the Masque of Clavicus Vile. To the dark lord, his servants, Margery, and the other artifact wielders they would simply see and argonian in a horned mask, but to everyone else they would see Oberyn as he always had been most of his life.

It even had the bonus of him not even being able to tell he was wearing a mask and being capable of eating and drinking while wearing it. His standing with the people around him had also skyrocketed making friendly soldiers that weren't directly his more willing to follow orders. Oberyn bet that it would make him even more popular at parties. The transformation had left him well endowed and Saarkiin had insisted that he "proliferate and begin the species anew." Therefor Oberyn had come to terms with his new form, especially if it meant the safety of his daughters.

The destitute army had passed the ruins of King's Landing and was approaching a forest in the distance. There they would be able to safely outpace a larger pursuing army. They were still in open field leaving them wide open. Oberyn felt his new scales shift on his back and neck like rising of hair. He sniffed the air and tasted the nearby stench of horseshit of many horses but they were riding the only horse that hadn't died of exhaustion.

He opened his mouth to warn the few hundred surviving soldiers right as an arrow hit their horse directly in the arse. The horse bucked wildly and threw the two into the dirt and sprinted for the far off forest.

"Are you alright." he asked Margery picking her up.

"We won't be..." she whispered.

"Men! Run for the forest! Lose them in the trees!" yelled the Viper King as he tried to carry Margery. Her leg was severely broken and she wouldn't move for herself. She just kept hitting her hand on the ground whispering under her breath.

"Margery we have to run."

"We won't be remembered!" she cried looking up at him in tears. She hoisted herself up with the staff as the demon of the artifact appeared behind her.

"Men of the Reach! Stand with your Queen!" commanded Oberyn. As if through the power of his mask the soldiers stop the retreat and most of the seven-hundred men that survived the first battle returned to their queen's side. Oberyn looked around and with his newly acquired keen vision he could see the tens-of-thousands of men on horseback charging. It was the Golden Company and the Second Sons. They would be upon them in mere minutes.

"Our names won't be remembered..." said Margery as she limped towards the pursuers in the distance. "If we die like trampled flowers. My family died trying to take King's Landing from the god of death. They got what they deserved, and they're all gone now. I am the last Tyrell. A forgotten noble girl. I refuse to be forgotten and written of as less than worthless." as she spoke Oberyn raised his spear and signaled the men to form ranks. They barred their spears and swords and dug in, prepared to die. "Scream and cry and none will help us. Plead and beg, nothing. From this day the Men of the Reach will no longer live as cattle feeding the rest of the world! We will die facing battle head on, as my father, brother, and husband before me!"

Margery's strength in her leg finally gave out but the Viper caught her before she fell. He hoisted her up and whispered in her ear: "Great speech. This nightmare will be over soon. You can rest now."

The demon stepped around them and bared his strange, fiery greatsword muttered something about smelling weakness. The sellswords were on them now and they could feel the beating of the hooves deep in their chest. Whether out of instinct or false hope the soldiers formed protective ranks around the two monarchs as they embraced each other. They prepared for the end.

A distant roaring in the sky caught their attention. They could see a red thing up in the distance beyond the clouds but couldn't make out what it was. It roared again but this time their gaze snapped to the sound of a distinct thud in between the two armies. The clouds began to darken and swirl together, blocking out the sun. The winds howled and the air grew colder. In the spot of the impact a figure began to emerge from the dust and darkness. Tears welled in Margery's eye while Oberyn let out a quiet curse.

It was the Dark Lord. Saarkiin stared down the charging force of sellswords as he had done time and time before. This time it would be quick, and it would be messy.

"Stand far, far away from me. Flee for your lives." said the dark lord while keeping his dead glare upon the sellswords. "Do not look back. Mortals were not meant to see what I am about to do."

"Yes, master." Said Oberyn, cradling Margery in his arms. He took off in the opposite direction and the soldiers followed suit. Maragery, looking over the Viper's shoulder, watched the events unfold between the Saarkiin and the enemy.

"It is time I tested the full extent of my magic if I am to face Alduin once again. Thank you for the sacrifices, Iron Bank of Braavos." said Saarkiin as his hands began to glow and several overlapping rings of fire began to form around him."I call upon the ultimate engine of destruction, the discarded bastard of Molag Bal, fading ember of Coldharbor. My child, _come out and play! __**[Summon: Infernal Gargoyle Prime]**_"

The swirling clouds above parted and a fiery, black mass fell from the sky. It barreled downward at terminal velocity like a comet. The falling star struck head on into the center of the Golden Companies gilded forces and launched dirt, debris, and bodies in all directions. The impact had formed a fiery crater that looked like a giant, blazing brazer. Men scattered, confused and disoriented from the great explosion that had devastated their charge.

From inside the fire pit stirred a massive creature. As the flames died it rose and slowly stepped from the pit. It was an impossibly gigantic gargoyle enveloped in flames. It stood above the fear stricken men like an eagle looked down on field mice. Its fiery wings, more developed than an average gargoyle brute's, unfolded and extended outward as the creature let out a deafening, flaming roar. The soldiers of fortune closest to the Infernal Gargoyle Prime were incinerated instantly and from their ashes rose flame Atronachs that lobbed fireballs at the fleeing survivors.

As the army fled the monster gave chase, belching thick flames like a dragon would. The earth shook with each step the creature took which made it difficult for the men of the Golden Company to escape. Using the confusion of the other sellsword company being destroyed, the Second Sons made their retreat. The creature didn't notice their escape and continued to scorch the earth that the mortals walked upon. In that moment two more explosions rocked the land and the army, and two more fire monsters rose from the craters.

"Destroy every last one of them." said Saarkiin as his grim gaze took in the sight of thousands burning alive. "Turn them to ash. Leave none alive to tell the tale. We shall let the Iron Bank of Braavos wonder what happened to their beloved sellswords. Lets see them collect that Lannister debt now. What was it that Tyrion always said? 'A Lannister always pays his debts'? Well, consider this payment with _interest_."

_**Part VI**_

Chaos. Fire. Hell on Earth. That was the only thoughts that passed through the mind of Daario Naharis, lieutenant of the Second Sons. _I should've stayed behind..._ He thought as he abandoned his panicking horse and weaved his way through the men that had once been his brothers-in-arms. Previously in life Daario had intended to lay his eyes on the Dragon Queen, whose beauty was said to be legendary. Instead his commander had turned the company around, making promises of gold and glory to be found on the other side of the world.

There was no glory to be found here. Only great demons and damnation awaited them. The first demon had struck right in the heart of the Golden Company, dispersing the rival sellswords in all directions. Daario had ordered his men to use the distraction to escape. They brought their steeds about and attempted to make haste to safety, but it was naught to be had. Another, and then another...Three demons of fire and chaos in total had descended upon them not from the bowls of hell, but from the heavens above.

Now on foot, Daario attempted to abandon all hope of gold and glory and ran as fast as he could for the forest they had been chasing the Martell and Tyrell army into. It's cover was his only hope, and he prayed they did not follow and set the woods aflame. He ran for his life as he could hear the screeching and roaring of the demons and the cries of anguish of the companies being consumed in hellfire.

For a second, Daario stopped and turned to look upon one of the demons who seemed to stop its onslaught. It was raising its fiery claws into the air and it slammed its burning fist into the earth below. The demon let out another triumphant roar before slamming the burning fist into the earth once more, creating a destructive explosion. Another in the distance could be seen as well and a third that simply continued to belch red-hot flames into the frantic men below its feet. The demon turned towards Daario and swung once again. It was some distance away from him but the debris and dirt kicked up by it washed over Daario like the waves of the Narrow Sea. A sea that should never be crossed, ever again...

**_Part VII_**

_The Next Day..._

The Infernal Gargoyle Primes had scorched the land and turned the sellsword army into nothing but ash and soot. Saarkiin called his summons to heel and their fires began to wane. The Fading Embers of Coldharbor could not last long outside of their cold pits and soon they could die out and cease to be in this world.

However the simple fact that Saarkiin could summon them was testimony that he was slowly regaining his connection to Oblivion. Yet his magicka did not replenish as quickly as it should and it would still take some time to regain true resonance. Fortunately the dark lord could still use souls of the slain to replenish himself. Set deep within his empty rib cage was the Black Star, the corrupted version of Azura's Star. As he stood among the carnage of fiery damnation, the souls of the slain men began to fill the star with their power that fueled the dark lord's strength.

Saarkiin surveyed the "battlefield" and took in the sight of desolation. As he had thought earlier, he did not want to rule over an empire of ash and corpses, yet his rage had a need to be abated. His rule had to be absolute or dissonance such as an invading army of sellswords or other notions of civil unrest would continue to challenge him and the people he sought to rule over and provide for.

The Dark Lord did not need to devastate his enemies to such a degree. However he did take a momentary delight in such acts of wanton destruction. Especially since Serana wasn't nearby to scold him. During Saarkiin's reign in Tamriel he seldom got the chance to obliterate his enemies as he tried to maintain the image of a good emperor. But then again, the people of Tamriel knew the legend of the Dragonborn, and after the destruction of the Altmeri Dominion few nations chose to openly stand before the might the the Dovahkiin. To Saarkiin's left he noticed his noble compaion, Odahviing, wallowing in the ash of the slain.

"Odahviing, stop rutting around in the accursed ash."

"The ashes of our enemies are the finest, Dovahkiin. The Dovh relish in the chance to bath in such decimation."

"Do as you will..." said Saarkiin, solemnly. He turned his head and began to walk away. As a fire dragon, Odahviing took every chance to bath in the ashes of mortals. However Saarkiin cared not to be covered in ash and the red dragon was his ride back to Winterfell. He allowed his companion to enjoy himself as he had been naught but bone for several years. The dark lord continued to absorb the souls of the slain and look for survivors. The three infernal summons began to fade and so Saarkiin dismissed their conjuration. He then turned back towards Odahviing but stopped. From his right shoulder he could hear the screaming of a man.

Saarkiin faced the source to the cry to see a man in half-burned, gilded armor. The man was scorched from head to toe and was charging at him with a sword held high.

"Pitiful. The death throw of a charred imbecile. _**[Telekinesis].**_" he cast, holding his left hand out high and picking the man up with magic. The mad soldier continued to scream and threw his sword, to no avail. It fell impotently to the ground and Saarkiin began to laugh manically and magically crushed what life was left from the man. In that moment he heard a sharp whistle in his ethereal ear. He looked over his shoulder to see this new source of noise. As soon as his head turned a single dagger flew across the battlefield and lodged itself in Saarkiin's left eye socket. His skull was technically empty so their was no damage dealt. _However... _

_**"You dare..." **_he said as he launched the corpse of the burnt man into the air, his voice shaking the earth below. He stretched his two arms out wide and his hands began to glow as well as the ground around him

_**"[Bonemen], bring him to me. I want him alive!" **_

Six holes appeared in the ground around him and six blacken skeletons rose from them. They wielded bows and ragged swords and they gave pursuit to the man that dare strike at the Dark Lord himself. He then reached up to his face and removed the dagger. It was an ornamental thing with a golden body of a nude woman as its hilt.

_**Part VIII**_

Daario Naharis had survived the wave of burning ash and debris. Dazed and confused even more so than before he struggled to regain his bearing. While stumbling across the ashes of what was left of the Second Sons he had come across another survivor from the Golden Company. The man was mad with pain, but the man's madness fueled his own.

Daario had the foolish idea of directing his mad, burning rage and the black-clad man that had called those things from the heavens. He may have called down monsters but he was still a man, and all men must die. His plan had been to distract that man in black armor by convincing one of the other survivors, who had been mostly blinded by the burning ash, to attack directly into a specific direction. The crazed solider had screamed and charged headlong into unknown shadows of enemies. Daario was to then finish this "battle" with a single decisive blow. While he had been taken aback for a second at the sight of the dark man lifting the other soldier into the air without even touching him, he had made up his mind.

But it had all gone wrong. The man in armor, who had taken his favorite dagger straight to the eye, did not fall. Now Daario found himself being pursued by dead men. He ran as fast as his tired legs could carry him, yet it was not enough. A ragged arrow had struck him in the back of the knee and he fell to the ground. He struggled to rise but it was too late. The dead men, horrible blacken skeletons, surrounded him. However they did not move. They became perfectly still and the only sound he could hear was the ever slight grinding of their bones.

Then a shadow with two pale points of lights for eyes appeared before him. He stepped forth from the darkness and knelt before Daario, grasping his wounded knee. He squeezed it tightly, but the pain was the last thing Daario was afraid of. The face of the man was revealed from the shade. A pale skull.

"W..what are you?"

"Does it matter now, soldier?" replied a solemn voice, calm as the wind. "We are both dead men."

The dark thing in armor ripped out the ragged arrow from his knee. Daario bit his tongue and blood filled his mouth as it filled the burnt earth below. He could feel that he was quickly losing blood from the wound in his knee. If this thing didn't kill him soon than death would be his destiny all the same.

"What is your name, brazen soldier of fortune?" asked the dark thing. Daario replied, barely able to form the word with his bloody tongue. "Very well, Daario Naharis. You seem like a fine soldier who seeks to strike at peaks no man should ever bare witness to. As I said to one like you before; _You are strong, boy, but I am beyond strength. _However, you already knew that, didn't you? Yes...As of this moment I own your life. No matter your choice now, you will die. Only I can give you life, _everlasting_. Do you wish to live, my dear soldier of fortune?"

"Y..es. Please." stuttered the dying man.

"Very well. _**[Heal Other]**_" The hands of the dead man began to glow and light enveloped Daario. The wound on his leg closed as well as other burns, scraps, and bruises. "You are now well. I also see that you have an affinity for daggers. Then a parting gift for your bravery..." The man in dark armor flicked something to Daarrio. He caught it midair and he could see that it had been his ornamental dagger. The tip was bent from where it had struck indestructible bone. "Excellent. Then our time here is done. Good bye, soldier of fortune. I hope you fare well." And with that the man in dark vanished into a smokey shimmer.

"Wait, what?" said Daario, dazed.

_**"Bonemen, kill him." **_echoed a solemn voice throughout the morning air.


End file.
